The Blow Hand Love Career should not, NOT be taken lightly. Originally created in Ancient China, only the highest concubines of the emperor would learn such a trick. Later it was uncovered at the end of the nineteenth century by the British.
This is where a woman switches from a blow job to a hand job every fifteen minutes switching at least until the man shoots cum regularily. Anyway, when the woman has done this she willlick her hands clean of jiz and then starts to have anus sex with the man. When that is finished she shall excrete the males ejaculation onto her hands and eat it as the man enjoys the sight.
To fully appreciate and recreate The Blow Hand Love Career the man should cut a hole at the tip of a condom to make an essence of shooting cum. Also, it should take at least two hours.
"Connor... I think I'm ready for the Blow Hand Love Career," Nora said shyly.
"Honey, you know it takes a lot of work and responsibility it isn't like some lousy job, its a career. Are you ready for that?" Josh questioned authoritatively.
~Three Hours Later~
"You've done well my Sofia," smiled Connor.
"My name's Nora," she stated looking angrier by the second.
"Oh shi-"
The definition of hell this man should be arrested at first site if caught he will serve 17 life sentences for 293 counts of murder and several hundred counts of breaking and entering. This man is most likely armed and highly dangerous.
Police 1: the carterhand has struck again.
Police 2: oh lord really?!
Police 1: yes, this is the 293rd murder
Fogey/fogy /fougi/ sl. (early 18C+, orig. Scot) old-fashioned, stuck-in-the mud.
Person with old fashioned ideas which he is unwilling to change: Come to the disco and stop being such an old fogey!
You think me an old fogeyand an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. I saw three generations since O’Connel’s time. I remember the famine. Do you know that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the union twenty years before O’Connel did or before the prelates of your communion denounced him as a demagogue? You fenians forget some things. (James Joyce, Ulysses. Penguin Books,1992. p. 38)