Ouch
Her breasts were twin tomahawk missiles, armed and ready: I knew if they were homed in on me that all was lost.
Her cleavage was a fissure in a Japanese earthquake. You could lose a whole unpronounceable town down there.
Her dress was a budget by George Osborne. On the top it coruscated, it sparkled and (yes) squeaked oddly. But at bottom, well, there was really nothing to it.
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