I was reading my Phucket Ladybull Review

I was reading my Phucket Ladybull Review out on the garden porch enjoying the murmur of the evenings light rain when i started to hear a puttering car engine coming from across the

blasted, war torn copra plantation. After an hour the sound of the car hadn't come any closer. The interminable puttering, puttering was driving me batty. I grabbed my umbrella and

immediately dropped it. "Whoops! Butterfingers!"

The Butterfingers stood up and shook their fists. "Why do we always get blamed for people dropping things? It's a crime against candy!" The Mars Bars rolled their eyes and sighed,

“Wow, Butterfingers. You’re talking to us? Go live in your trash can or wherever you keep your disgusting selves,” said the Mars Bars. The Skittles felt bad, but didn’t speak up

so left, then came back. The Butterfinger was there alone. As the Skittles approached Butterfingers, a dark figure came up, but it wasn't any of the Mars Bars

or Snickers. No, this was a more sinister sweet: the Liquorice. The Skittles and the Butterfingers quailed with fear as the black, sinewy rope approached them.

The old Bonomo Turkish Taffy (banana flavored and pre-expiration-date) from the back of the shelf nodded his head sagely. "You are wise not to taste the licorice, Skittles," he sai

d, "for it was best before. Also, it reduces testosterone - but maybe the time has come for us to stop whispering these sweet nothings anyway."