Instalează Steam
conectare | limbă
简体中文 (chineză simplificată) 繁體中文 (chineză tradițională) 日本語 (japoneză) 한국어 (coreeană) ไทย (thailandeză) български (bulgară) Čeština (cehă) Dansk (daneză) Deutsch (germană) English (engleză) Español - España (spaniolă - Spania) Español - Latinoamérica (spaniolă - America Latină) Ελληνικά (greacă) Français (franceză) Italiano (italiană) Bahasa Indonesia (indoneziană) Magyar (maghiară) Nederlands (neerlandeză) Norsk (norvegiană) Polski (poloneză) Português (portugheză - Portugalia) Português - Brasil (portugheză - Brazilia) усский (rusă) Suomi (finlandeză) Svenska (suedeză) Türkçe (turcă) Tiếng Việt (vietnameză) Українська (ucraineană) Raportează o problemă de traducere
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢺⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿
⣿⣿⡏ ⣀ ⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⡄ ⢀⣴⣿
⣿⣿⣷⣄ ⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡧ ⢀⣤⣶
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣮⣭⣿⡻⣽⣒ ⣤⣜⣭ ⢐⣒ ⢰
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣾⣿ ⢈⢿⣷⣞
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⡿ ⣿ ⢻⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⢘⢻
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⢹⣿⣿⡇⢀⣶⣶ ⢽
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⢸⣿⣿ ⡟⢿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⣿⣧⣀ ⡀⣴ ⢘⡙
⢿ ⣴⡟ ⡃
KFC has some of the weirdest ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ advertisements and publicity campaigns I have ever seen. Now, I understand the crispy colonel, who doesn't want to see Sanders in his tighty whiteys with his massive bulge stickingout. Seeing him as a football coach, now that was amazing. Just imagining him slapping the asses of and ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ those muscular young men aroused me in a way that I could never imagine. I became so jealous, I wanted to kill those men just so I could be with him myself. Why would they deprive me of my Colonel, my precious and beautiful Kentucky Prince?
I often dream about Colonel Sanders, beating me in the face with his colossal, crispy drumstick as I guzzle down his mashed potatoes and gravy, perhaps even indulging in the bits of macaroni and cheese he has stored in his glorious, Kentucky-shaped rectum.