The Smut Special

Harry spotted the two booty-licious girls outside in the parking lot, grabbing his crotch as the two girls pulled out a lumpy heavy looking five-foot something black bag out of Paris Hilton's sMeXy hot pink Lamborghini and tossing the bag into the industrial dumpster that all fast food restaurants have.

"Hey," Harry lusciously called out to Tricia, whose eyes widened like like my legs when Harry Styles sings hOLLA!!!!!!!

"Frickle-frackle, a witness," Paris Hilton screeched!!!!!

"I got this," Tricia said blackly as she twirled her switchblade around her middle finger (A/N: she's flipping the bird because my OC's are bad gurls like me!!!! ;) )

"I want to date you," Harry choked out- choking on his thirst for the V.

"You?" Tricia and Paris Hilton rolled their eyes to the back of their heads, irises emerging on the back of their eyes.

"I want to play hanky-panky with the both of yous," Harry corrected himself, not wanting to offend the pair.

*WEE-WHOO WEE-WHOO WEE-WHOO WEE-WHOO*

"It's the popo! We have to leave!" Tricia told Paris Hilton, the designated driver (A/N: Tricia took some cocaine so she doesn't feel so good :( )

"We can't leave a witness," Paris Hilton protested, growling at the thought of her and Tricia's... less than requitable hobbies to be found out. Her daddy will take all of her money and her car keys so she will be forced to use money from her clothing line and have a cheaffeur driver her around instead :(.

"Like I said, I got this," Tricia smirked and shoved Harry in the open, blood-stained trunk.

TO BE CONTINUED YA DING-DONGS

Notes

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