Knob

We climbed to the top of Slate Hill, the highest knob in our town, and Ricky gave me a whole talk on how slate formed, how it was and was not shale.

Arthur slammed his fist down on the table so hard, the cup jumped, spilling coffee. The rotten bastard means to have the guvnor’s guts. That fucking knob has never been on a live deployment in his entire life.[…]

[…] He must really hate those people!” my father said in an all-too audible aside to Mom. “I don’t hate them, you stupid knob!” Critch said. It’s you and your whole kind I hate!”

“Yes,” said Jessie, pouring herself a coffee. “The rumours are true. Birdie McBride has a big knob.” “No,” I corrected, deadpan, “I said he is a big knob,”

[…]I let out a sigh, and then stood up, and looked toward the thief, who was still running. “Bloody knob!” I called out, and then began to wipe off the dirt and water with my sweater sleeve.

Fearn picks Jeremy Clarkson (“absolute knob. Well-educated, 1980s BBC, and he thinks it’s a licence to say what he wants”); […]

A hot and strong sexual odour emanated from her fanny. I extended my head and pressed my nose between her lips. I pushed my tongue into her crack and lapped up the juices. [...] Then I moved up and grasped her long clitoris in my lips and began to suck and play with it with my tongue. She thrashed around, sometimes grasping my head with her thighs, sometimes opening her legs as wide as she could, pushing my away while gripping my head in her hands and urging me on. Through it all I kept my grip on her knob until her orgasm began to subside.

He was seriously talented, and his fingers were now sliding back and forth over her wet knob, and she was losing her mind. Almost gasping for air from the pleasure, she felt the undeniable need for her release. […] Then his fingers quickened their strokes against her swollen rose bud, […]

Place whole, unpeeled knobs of ginger in a zipper-lock freezer bag for up to 3 months. Slice or break off what you need and return the rest to the freezer.

Males voices, raised in anger, screamed at an unseen freshman. One voice demanded to know the rank on each jacket. “Hey, smack, what rank is this cadet uniform? Answer me, knob! Don’t you know, knob? What’s wrong, are you stupid, knob? For the first time since arriving at The Citadel, I fought to keep back tears. Exhausted from an hour of nonstop harassment, I was caught off guard by the sound of a boy sobbing behind me.

“You went to The Citadel?” her mother chimed in. “I’ve heard so many great things about that institution. Did you go through a plebe year?” I told her I did and that we called it the knob year because freshman cadets had to shave their heads bald to resemble the butt end of a door knob and keep it that way for an entire ten months while going through the process of being broken down, only to be built back up.

Day 1 at the South Carolina Military Academy is filled with the academy’s trademarks - the Guidon, the five basic commands, and a knob haircut.

One morning, maybe three weeks after my last grapple with Penny, Thomson came roaring into our form room. ‘Oi, Fleming, you spastic. Guess who I knobbed last night?’

Had Jack knobbed her as well? Molly wondered.