Bachelor Party Massacre

I love breasts. What’s not to like, eh? You’ve got your chest wall, you’ve got your pectoralis muscles, your lobules, nipples, the areola, you’ve got the duct, fatty tissue and you’ve got the skin — haven’t you? Perfection, right guys? You know what I’m talking about. And when I watch an embarrassingly low-budget, evidently rushed horror film, I like to see at least a couple of breasts.

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