Cameltoe, chaffing, cystitis and thrush are no longer secret and shameful panty pastimes, they are FINALLY something to be celebrated. I like to think of this blog as our very own revolutionized version of the vagina monologues. The only difference is that our anecdotes would be performed as rap videos rather than monologues. You know, the kind with big, silky muscular men in chinchilla coats, bouncing cars, crates of Cristal and all of us cameltoe hoes in cameltoetastic diamante thongs and nipple tassels. My life officially just got better at the thought of this.
I never thought I’d finally find an outlet where I could openly talk about what has now become the satisfying sensation of my panties raping my pum-pum. I never thought that I’d finally be able to discuss the times where my knicker-eating coochie pars me. The moments on the train where you can sense the person in front of you trying their very best to avoid looking at your pelvic area. Or even better, the times when there’s a pervert sat in front of you who is openly drooling directly at your snatch and the fact that it is distinctly separated, enticing the voyeur, welcoming them inside. And yet here I am honoring camelhoof far and wide.
You might think the most common victims are very often gymnasts or dancers with their leotards and tights but these days it’s regular girls like me and you who walk around in desperation to look the bufftingz who fall prey to the intangible hoof.
Someone once told me that there is nothing sexier than a curvaceous girl wearing tight trousers to show off her batty and hips to potential fuck buddies/rudeboys (aka the loves of my life). Being one of these curvalicious Mediterranean girls myself, (unfortunately not in the way that my sexual homegirl Shaniqua Latoya on the banner of the blog is), it became my sole purpose in life to find the world’s tightest jeans and in turn become the sexiest peng ting the world has ever seen. I found out that my wit, intelligence and charm were not what I needed to impress a man; all I needed was my pum pum, my bum bum and my titties. In my plight I discovered leggings, hot pants, cycling shorts and suddenly I found myself in bars manifesting my open lovebox to the world and yielding better results than I had anticipated.
So you see, camelhoof is something we should all embrace. It is proof that we are trying to make ourselves sexy for the man dem. And they love it.
Here is the evidence:
An official survey carried out on one pervert, by yours truly about 5 minutes ago, came out with the results that although it might not look so purdy you can't deny that “man just sees it and thinks rah, I wanna mash dat.” I for one DEFINITELY wanna get mashed.
Cameltoe hoe till I die.
That's hawt. Clunge.
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