Okay, just hold on, wait a minute, stop the bus, hold the phone, park the car, and in general stop!
When did this idea start that boogers, bogies, greenies, etc. taste salty?
Who are this sick weirdo perverts with salty tasting snorters?
Come on, it’s not like we go around tasting other people’s bogies (even if they are meant to be a high source of protein), but since when did they have salt in them unless you’ve been eating crisps (that’s ‘potato chips’ to you in the rebel colonies) then taken a drink that’s gone down the wrong way and been regurgiated up back through your nose?
Anyway, CravenLestat’s got problems of his own:
Except it wasn’t. It was Agnes Crumplebottom – because she was looking for someone with a bigger dick. But then you were looking for someone with bigger tits anyway, so you’re evens.
The rejection however just went on for him:
Simsbae was looking for someone with bigger manboobs. Sorry CravenLestat, yours simply are not pert and mouthwatering enough for her – although she thinks you do have tweekable nipples, even if they are a bit hairy.
Anyone else wanting to know IreneSwift’s make of shampoo?
InfraGreen meanwhile is having to deal with monosexuality:
Dax would make an ideal Simguru. After all, we keep saying they should go f**k themselves and clearly Dax would like nothing better.
TadOlson meanwhile has no such nonsense in TadOlson’s game, thanks to the way TadOlson has set TadOlson’s story progression.
Of all the people proving what we said earlier right, it would have to be bloody 5782341b77vl, the Simmer whose name we have to keep going backwards and forwards between screens to effing type – STOP BEING QUOTABLE YOU BASTARD!
Yes TreyNutz, but the tomato was shaped like a penis and testicles and so your Simmie was able to sell a picture of it to the British tabloid press, who lap up this sort of childish crap to sell to their even more moronic readership at £1 a pop.
And you in the USA thought National Enquirer readers represented the bottom of the food chain?
Ah come on, Trollnexus, what about all those nights you’ve come home after finding you just couldn’t score, saw a tomato and said ‘ah, f**k it!’
But enough of this fruitage…
Euphamisms, Igazor, all euphamisms. At least it wasn’t their melons or plums.