On page seventeen the curious cup-fillers pry out of their thanks for trying harness to investigate a promising patch of snow. On page eighteen, our heroes--by which I mean the breasts--fall into a crevice. Such is their power that they take the woman attached with them. This just may be very clever Freudian subtext. In short, better than Killraven and a night spent watching J.A.G., but then what isn't? Read Full Review
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