Let's be Sarah Huckabee during her high school years!

Sarah, Jesus could have fed the 5000 from what seems to be under your poodle skirt.

I'm the gym teacher urging her to try out for shot put.

I'm the 6 boxes of fat free snackwells cookies she just scarfed down.

I'm the egg salad sandwich that she eats at lunch.

I'm the candy and rose gram she sends to herself in class on Valentine's Day from a "secret admirer."

I am guessing she was home schooled, can't imagine the Huckabee's trusting any nasty liberal teacher putting immoral thoughts in her head.

R6, are there really any nasty liberal teachers to worry about in the Ozarks where she grew up though?

I'm all of the lonely nights.

I’m the one-piece classroom desk that squeals each time she wedges her massive ass into the frame

I'm her scoliosis.

I just googled and she haunted the halls of a public school, Little Rock Central High.

With that in mind, I’m the $240 check written by Janet to cover the 4 boxes of fundraising chocolate Sarah sucked down over the course of six days.

I'm the look of abject fear etched upon the face of the boy whose hand she is holding during Youth Christian Prayer Group meeting. Sarah is clenching his hand in a death-grip and rubbing her thumb along his palm, and it's not in a very Christian way.

I'm the seconds and third servings she demands from the lunch lady!

Really, Little Rock Central? I'm surprised the Huckabees would let her fraternize with Negroes.

We are her possible prom dates.

R13 - with her girlfriends in the cafeteria....

I'm her wardrobe straight from the Dress Barn.

I’m the Dress Barn labels she snipped off and sewed into her Lane Bryant wardrobe.

I’m the local Bigfoot hunter who shot hours of her thrashing around in a swamp.

the only crush i could see her having was that box of TastyKakes crammed into her backpack and secretly munched on in the girl's bathroom.

I'm the time she had her period in the shower after gym class.

I'm Sarah imagining that she looks like Britney Spears and dancing along to "Baby One More Time" in her X-Large full-length mirror.

I'm the purity ring given to her by her father - probably the most useless gift in the history of humankind.

I’m the linebacker she ran over on the way to the winning touchdown in the Homecoming game.

I'm her role of a lifetime as Quasimodo in the high school theatre's production of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

I'm the 7pm curfew

I'm Sarah's finest fashion moment.

The one time she just knew: a big bitch should NEVER wear stripes.

I'm the 8 pm second dinner.

i'm her post trump future

i don't exist

Dang! she's SO ugly it's painful

I'm her Roxio Mix CD of self-empowering, beauty-affirming songs she cries herself to sleep with every night.

I'm the peroxide she put on her upper lip. I didn't work.

I’m the emergency trip to the nurse’s office every time a game requiring a one-size-fits-all pinny is played in gym class.

I'm the shitty TV she watches. Crap like 7th Heaven.

Pinny?

I’m her child-bearing hips.

[quote]In modern times, the term "pinny" or "pinnie" has taken another meaning in sports wear, namely a training tabard or scrimmage vest, double-sided short apron, often made of mesh, used to differentiate teams. This usage is chiefly British, with some usage in Canada and the United States.

That’s what we called them in my part of MA.

I'm all of the dead and mutilated family and neighbor pets buried down in the holler.

I'm her momma, saying "She's just big boned!"

I'm the nasty looks she gives to the pretty girls.

Things must be bad to have to go back to trying to find something to say about Sarah Sanders. She's ancient history already.

R41 She is just so fun to make fun of! Plus people shouldn't forget what a vile bitch she was during her years in the Trump admin. May her past haunt her forever

I'm her mother's difficulty in finding a girl's Size 16 shoes

I'm the bleachers she sat on during gym class. I was her best friend.

I’m the female gym coach who almost nailed her in the supply closet after promising her a box of Little Debbie Honey Buns if she’d help me find my “keys”. While she devoured the Debbies, I was trying to have my way with her big honey pot, until she screamed. Not in pleasure, but because she’d ate the last cake. It was a fucking FAMILY SIZED box!

I’m her senior yearbook with no messages from friends, teachers, or anyone else for that matter, written in it and pictures of girls who weigh 400lbs or less whose faces have been blacked out with a marker and “skinny bitch” written beside of them. I also have a list of life goals tucked inside that includes things like “kiss a boy who isn’t family”, “be able to touch my privates without hitting a fat roll”, and “figure out how to finally get rid of the coarse and long hair that covers my back and deep ass crack for good”. Luckily, the list doesn’t include a deadline. #alwayshavedreams

[Quote] I'm the bleachers she sat on during gym class. I was her best friend.

I'm the flatulence she left on them.

I'm the prom invitation that never happened.

I'm the stillborn fetus left behind in the third stall of the girls' bathroom after taking a shit. I was conceived at a family reunion.

I'm Miss Sarah's unused prom dress and I know exactly what you're going to say: WHY would such an upstanding young Christian woman wear a sleeveless dress? Well, I obviously came with a matching turtleneck to wear underneath — all the dresses from the Gothard Collection at Bass Pro Shops did — but you already knew that.

You need prayer.

I'm the penis she has to tuck in every morning.

She's not that bad looking. Wish her legs were covered though. Mexicans r solid built.

I'm her monthly four-digit tab at the school snack bar.

I'm still laughing at R45. So real.

I’m the pantyhose that make the swooshing sound when those thunder thighs rub together as Miss Thing is the last to leave the school lunch room.

I'm the joke "For a good time, call Sarah Huckabee's (phone number)" scrawled in the boys' bathroom toilet stall.

I'm the sad fact that in comparison to her two piece-of-shit sociopath pig-ugly cunt brothers, her school nickname was "the thin, nice one."

I am that one eye, looking over ------------------------------------------>there,

while the other one is looking at you.

I'm Ivanka Trump during her high school years, giving blowjobs to teachers and still storing nuts for the winter in my cheeks. I'm not as lumpen as Sarah but a much bigger cunt.

I'm the gym teacher. I'm pretty, smart, funny, and nice. And Sarah can't stop thinking about me. Sarah doesn't fantasize about sex or other physical affection with me. Instead, she fantasizes about rescuing me and being rescued by me. That's not gay at all, right? But still, Sarah realizes that her obsession with a woman is "not right" and she'll have to suppress it. Maybe she can bury her feelings under pizza, cakes, and candy. Find a man, get married, pump out some kids. But when she turns 50-something, it'll be too hard to deny anymore. That's OK, by then, her shitty dad will be dead.

I'm the mean girl who always nails her in dodgeball.

I'm the jumper she made in Home Ec.

I'm her snack purse everyone thinks its an extra large back pack.

I'm an ingrown eyelash. Driving her crazy, I am.

I am Jack Nicholson's eyebrows.

And I'd like to be returned to Mr. Nicholson, thankyouveryfuckingmuch.

I am her mother, trying to explain the menstrual cycle.

"Now dear...you know God loves you - God loves us all, all us white folks - but because of Eve's sin in eating the apple and forcing her innocent husband to do the same, God has visited a curse upon us women for all eternity. Every month, for about three days - one day per apple bite and one for the snake - God will make your...your...your - that place - he will make blood come gushing forth like unto that wine which is the venom of serpents and also the cruel poison of asps. During this time you must hang your head in shame and hide your stink away from the Godly menfolk, and also your brothers. For like unto the wolf that ravens, they can small that stink - the stink of sin. And like unto the bunny rabbits that fornicate freely upon our front lawns until your Daddy blows their heads clean off with his rifle, they shall bend you in twain and make you twin to the harlot that holdeth the crown of Babylon. Here's your Hello Kitty sweater and I packed extra carrot sticks for your lunch. Have a nice day at school!"

I'm the mean girls throwing tampons at her in gym class and telling her to plug it up!

I'm also her mother pleased with the fact that whenever she asks the kids what they want from the store the boys always want junk food but Sarah always wants a healthful, refreshing cucumber.

So good for the complexion and the poor thing needs all the help she can get.

I'm the Billy Thomas [hearts] Sarah Huckabee doodle she keeps scrawling in her notebook, while she gives Billy's girlfriend the evil, smoky eye.

I'm her dad, then governor Mike Huckabee and I, along with her mother and Wanda the cafeteria lady are the only people to sign her yearbook. I even signed it, "To a sweet girl, Governor Huckabee" just so she could tell her classmates that the governor signed her yearbook. No one was impressed.

[quote]I'm the joke "For a good time, call Sarah Huckabee's (phone number)" scrawled in the boys' bathroom toilet stall.

I'm the lawsuit for false advertising and fraud filed by all the guys who called that number.

I'm her high school graduation photo.

I'm the smell of stale cooking grease, unwashed fat, and repressed rage that hangs over the Huckabee house like a cloud.

I seep into Sarah's pores - not that it's hard - you could drive a truck into her pores

I’m her Trapper Keeper decorates with puffy stickers of rainbows and clouds with sayings like “I ❤️ The Lord!”

I'm all the Parent/Teacher meetings at Sarah's school...

That always end with Janet or Mike screaming angrily, "You hate her because she's a Christian, don't you!"

I’m the skid marks in her granny panties.

I’m the counselor who told her “the kids are just being mean. You’re a pretty girl” before busting a gut laughing so hard it brought tears.

I'm the cowboy boots Sarah insist on wearing with short dresses.

"My Deddy says I have purty legs."

I'm Sarah's Tamagotchi pet.

I'm her only friend.

I'm the pecan pie she made because darn it she really does make pecan pies.

I'm her strong identification with the character of Josie Grossie in "Never Been Kissed."

Just wanted to express my deep gratitude to everyone who replied on this thread.

I'm the school nurse who always had difficulty coming up with tactful ways to suggest she do something about that wonky eye.

I'm the excuses she gave for skipping the Presidential Fitness Challenge

I'm the 8,234,973 chickens fried for her.

I'm the look of rage she gives when members of her school's GSA invite her to one of their meetings -- mistakenly believing she is either lesbian or MTF or somewhere in between.

I'm the dog-eared worn out Harlequin romance novel AKA shower nozzle masturbation material.

[quote] “Won’t you come in?” I step back and open the door wide. He swoops in, pushes me deeper into the room, cups my face in his hands, and devours me with his mouth. The door slams shut behind him and I can only cling to him as he kisses me almost desperately, as though I’m a mirage that will disappear.

He pulls my shrug off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and reaches for the button of my jeans next, deftly unfastening them with one hand. He pushes his hands inside them, glides them down my ass, and lowers my jeans down my legs until they’re pooled around my ankles.

“I told myself that once I finally had you like this, I’d take my time and explore every inch of your gorgeous little body… ”

I whip my cami over my head just as he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra and am now pinned against the wall in my plain pink panties.

“… but I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t taste you.”

He kneels before me, yanks my panties down, pulls my leg up onto his shoulder, and with reverent hands, touches the insides of my thighs gently.

I'm the dog-eared worn out Harlequin romance novel AKA shower nozzle masturbation material.

[quote] “Won’t you come in?” I step back and open the door wide. He swoops in, pushes me deeper into the room, cups my face in his hands, and devours me with his mouth. The door slams shut behind him and I can only cling to him as he kisses me almost desperately, as though I’m a mirage that will disappear.

He pulls my shrug off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and reaches for the button of my jeans next, deftly unfastening them with one hand. He pushes his hands inside them, glides them down my ass, and lowers my jeans down my legs until they’re pooled around my ankles.

“I told myself that once I finally had you like this, I’d take my time and explore every inch of your gorgeous little body… ”

I whip my cami over my head just as he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra and am now pinned against the wall in my plain pink panties.

“… but I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t taste you.”

He kneels before me, yanks my panties down, pulls my leg up onto his shoulder, and with reverent hands, touches the insides of my thighs gently.

I'm the puka shell necklace struggling to survive against the massive girth of her meaty neck.

I’m the sturdiest fuckin cheer pyramid you’ve ever seen.

I'm the men's Size 42 cargo boardshorts. I am the only thing in Old Navy that fits her.

I’m the Gay Straight Alliance she was mistakenly invited to join.

[quote] Things must be bad to have to go back to trying to find something to say about Sarah Sanders. She's ancient history already.

This cunt wishes.

I've often said that the luckiest members of the Trump administration are the ones who are going to croak sooner rather than later. It's the younger members of the Trump wagon - -Sarah, Stephen Miller, Ivanka & Jared -- who are going to be in for a real rude awakening. [italic]Persona non grata[/italic]doesn't even begin to touch upon the level of hell that will be coming their way for the next few decades. Those of us around their age won't let them or anybody else forget.

I'm her hairy manlegs.

I'm the thyroid problem she blames her weight on.

I'm the pencil lead ground into a fine powder while signing my own high school yearbook.

I'm the three chocolate milkshakes she drinks every day, thinking it will bring the boys to her yard.

I'm the Arkansas County where her body type is considered petite.

R93 Hope you're right. They deserve that and worse.

I'm the 9:00 am right eye and 2:30 pm left eye.

I'm the all you can eat buffet that has banned her unless she pays triple the normal rate.

She looks like she was constructed from the pieces of two different jigsaw puzzles.

It's weird. Sarah looks like Michelle Obama in the OP's photo.

I'm the ostrich drumstick with which she poked in her right eye.

I'm all the twice-daily Slim-Fast shakes that were never followed by a sensible dinner.

I’m her mantra: “I’m pretty on the inside.”

I’m the tamagotchis she overfed.

I'm the face she overfed. Everyday.

I'm the fantasies Sarah writes about her boy crushes in her journal:

"And Matt wrapped his arms around my sturdy body, and told me my big-boned frame could satisfy him in a way that the other girls anorexic boyish bodies never could..."

I’m the extra-long sanitary napkins because tampons are sinful (you have to put them “up there”!!) and lemme tell ya: it’s a heavy flow.

I'm the Girls Locker Room where Sarah tortures the pretty girls

And farts in their faces

I'm the tampons that Sarah looks at longingly

"My Daddy says tampons are the Devil's fingers! Good girls don't use tampons!"

I'm the tears when she realizes Ma and Pa aren't sending her to band camp for the summer, but fat camp.

I'm the chastity belt her parents didn't need to buy her after seeing how she turned out.

I'm the elastic in Sarah's underwear that snaps from the stress of her ever expanding thighs

Janet is forced to constantly exchange them at the fancy Arkansas department store

I'm the SPANX salesman that made enough money to move to the south of France, after Sarah became his customer.

I'm the "flute" that Sarah tries to pack in her luggage for Camp

I'm the one-third of the state of Arkansas that never gets any light during the day unless all the Huckabees sit down

I’m the frozen hotdog she got stuck up. It was the only time food went in another hole.

I'm the 4H bull she lost her virginity to behind the barn.

I'm all of the Junior Chubbettes clothes she outgrew after fifth grade, but keeps around anyway.

I'm the campaign manager who doesn't want a fat girl in the photos with her father.

I'm the makeover clerk at the Little Rock Dillard's cosmetics counter. I up and quit the day she showed up for her appointment.

I'm Janet Huckabee, edging my Dodge Caravan into the front of the carpool line at Little Rock High. Don't you sinners know I am the GOVERNOR'S WIFE? I send judgey stares to the coloreds, theater homosexuals (likely), skinny people and the single moms picking up kids. I'm just... better. And when Sarah hefts herself into the caravan, we ride home to the Governor's mansion in silence. WHY can't she make an effort.

I'm Sarah's driver training instructor. She had to push the seat so far back that I couldn't reach the pedals in the dual-control car.

I'm her training bra.

I broke training.

I'm the two sides of her face.

We can never agree!

I’m the Mormon relative that thinks her lopsided face and sow-body are sexy. I can’t wait to fuck sister-wife!

I'm the pry bar and the local high school football team used to roll Sarah over in bed!

I'm the two side of her cavernous vagina.

We can never meet.

I’m the flour the boys roll her in to find the wet spot.

I’m the date to she has with Lance, a male high school cheerleader, at the Cracker Barrel. Is true love a brewing?? 💕

I'm the Mormon underwear she prefers because it's discreet, practical and comfortable.

I'm the adult diaper she wears for much the same reasons.

I'm Sarah drunk with power and revenge after the teacher appoints me to take names when she leaves the classroom.

Awright, these are the people who are going to Hell! And y'all are ALL on the list. Godless heathens, every last one of you is going to BURN!

I'm Dr. Hamilton, her optometrist at the local Pearle Vision. This wonky-eyed bitch is driving me to drink.

I’m Kentucky Fried Chicken. She helped keep me in business after the Colonel died.

I'm the creationism she demands to be included in the curriculum.

I'm the discrete application of cooking fat to get her and her brothers into the car for any family outing.

I'm her Sweet 16 party. Unfortunately, when she reached that age, it was also her dress size.

I'm the unanswered question. Glass eye?

I'm her jealous eyes, who keep watching each other to see what the other one is doing.

I'm the starvation diet she went on for this family photo. Her brothers were more than happy to eat her share of breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I'm the spelling bee she cheated in.

She must cry looking at the pic in R143

I'm the picture of Ricky Martin tucked inside her binder covered in pictures of Michael W. Smith. My parents forbade her to have anything of Ricky Martin because preacher told them he's a "homosexualist".

She doesn't care though because he's soooooo cute.

Looking at those photos, I can’t help but remember, there’s no escape from your DNA.

I am her 11th grade Home Economics teacher....I told her with her looks she had better not dream about being a hausfrau as no man with any kind of sight would want her

r144. Is that her on the left in the suit? She looked better then.......

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