upon the rocky perches '05

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upon the rocky perches '05

Post by bron » Mon Aug 01, 2005 10:48 am

<b>The Cigarette Packet</b>

Well! Drip drip. <i>Fuck knows. This band sucks balls and cunts and is still unsatisfying.</i> I often find cunts unsatisfying. Don't you? Who is writing this sexy shit? Mmmm. That's a wrapper. Do you like to fuck upside down squirrels? <i>A bull with a winkle is more my style. But do you say SEXIST or SEXY? Squirrels are known notoriously for being both & also for not knowing if their spelling is correct. I think I am a squirrel! Do you think I'm sexy?</i> If I squirrel does it mean I'm sexy? If I say you're a squirrel does it mean I'm in for an eventful evening? No, don't stick your hand up his arse you sqrl! <i>Even if it was a squirrel, squirrel, I wonder why would I be grabbing it's arse, I'm worried. I don't know myself. This chip packet is proving to hamper my efforts at being creative, but it has the attention of the three near me. They think I'm nuts, but are curious. They need to know too! They do!! </i> Are.. Hello squirrel! Are you a squirrel? <i>To be a squirrel one must first decide on the SOMETHING SOMETHING of squirrel and its entemylogical(?) offshoots to which squirrel? When does one squirrel? But SOMETHING SOMETHING is arrived at after much ponderance one can only be assured of one thing: squirrel does not taste as good as pussy. </i> Depends entirely on which part is eaten, and whether it be main or entre. <i> And what wine? Red or white? </i> I believe a Cab Sav? I don't mind the sav every now and then. <i>Sucking a sav should bring SOMETHING delight and a mouth full of goo if SOEMTHING. </i> The goo of sav puts a rose in every cheek.

<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v641/ ... cigpak.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v641/ ... k.jpg"></a>

<b>The Paper Towel</b>

<i>*high pitched voice* Lah lah lah. Did you hear the one about the fat chick with the boyfriend 1/3 her size? That's me! Boobdisious - he's the size of my nipple & I have a pole in my head - however I've just become the squirrel who has no clue. Fury bucks!</i> Bucks are one furry item. Furry bowl-cut. Furry mullet. Skanky hot pants frosh oooo my boobs beat in time with their boredom. <i>It's like an impatient clock that beats faster with a butt shoved in its face </i> squirting molten ejaculate into squidgy poon. That's another term for snatch, but should only be used when first penetrating virgin grandmothers - the risk of disgust is high but at least you're done a somewhat good deed. Stinkfist granny sex is another matter entirely. <i>Verien varies but he chokes on his grandmother's strap-on apparently.</i> Oh I thought you meant his frosh tutty or that old wench he cannot dislodge? She does have a ball crushing vice grip on that sweet meat. Poor old chop could do with some freshly squeezed, alas, digs the old wine and keg on legs. Hey, my soda needs some stream. <i> When you find that stream don't slash it in okay.</i> My slashing days are over I assure thee. I sit on the muddy banks and get my jollies off. Ooops. Nice arse. Nice grain. Nice feel.<i> No more grave pissing for you then? You can piss on my grave if you want! Grass will be green. How about I write that in my last will and testament??</i> ok, do you want Diane's earrings? <i> Along with the rights to the Nitzo song??</i>

What about the grave pissing? <i> Indeed, but what of the grave shitting, nobody considers that much overlooked technique in the subtle art of desecration, I myself have launched many chocolate logs of sacrifice in no less than 36 graves of close friends and loved ones. I lieu of flowers, take a dump on my rotting, foetid remains. </i> I shall brew a mighty curry on the eve of your funeral, and speckle your coffin with my explosive appreciation, and garnish my respectful slosh with a twig and a fig. <i>Many thanks for the gift of respectful poo. The yukacrappa tribe of the eastern southwest lands of the mighty khuntahrryan empire make their young eat the black pearl. This delicacy may also be found in san fransisco. Its hallucinagenic properties are legend. All one requires is a 'stiff', recently deceased, a gymnastic cunt, and a vial to collect the resultant discharge. Dead men can't jump but they can cum rivers of netherworld spunk.</i> So really, one should not be pissing on graves but digging up long deceased males to receive their gallons of prehistoric spunk for consumption after the inevitaable empty dessert offered by the modern male? Are we to conclude the living male is indeed a waste of volume and grave digging will be the new clittickler of the 2000's? What will eventuate once folks are no longer burried? <i>Dead men's jizz is only of use as the drug of choice for the rave bunny elite - living male load is the drug of choice for good cumguzzling anal whores the world over. But only after a good, hard spankathon.</i>

And what of non-bunnies and non-anal-whores? <i>A giver of man-juice shall flow through the valleys and streets, ready for all to come and be immersed - like it says in the Book of Fornications, 6:9 - 'and yay, thou shalt be baptised with the spirit and come, thou shalt imbibe and feel its warmth on thy face and boobies - for the faithful shall be known by the stains in their hair and the expense of their dry cleaning bill. Furniture shall not survive the orgy quake of apocalyptigasm.' Amen. </i> Alas the Book of Fornications was a limited edition, and limited more-so due to the nature of those in the binding industry, believing the fruits of their readings could be substituted as a cheap fixative. Unbeknowns to them, as the readership indulged, it was a wet-paint-on-touch-dry-paint conundrum, and the books made themselves undone by fresh 'fixative'. Thus, a 'quick fix' and to 'get a fix'.. affix. Spangled donuts however, have yet to bring themselves undone. <i>It was not until the holy llamas arrived at Krispy Kreme, bearing three wise goths, that the truth of it really came out. The donuts were barren. Their holy holes unfulfilled with delicious sugary treats. However, there were veritable shitloads of cinammon. And the demon Toon rose forthwith to ravage the land once more - its tits spewing red cordy and its gooch radiating hate like an aurora mail-out campaign gone terribly wrong. </i>

Little did they know, only the cinammon liquid additive had the orgasmic properties the powder did not possess, when added atop spangled donuts, could convert Zero into apple crumble. And a photograph is required for the recipe of the ear piercing doom and mysticysm dead little grandmothers again? They can't get enough of that Necrocum. Chicks without arses love to demonstrate this. <i>However, arses without chicks are becoming a growing malady in the highlands. These roaming arses devour all in their eternal quest to find a chick who needs immediate gastric relief. Like the fucking bitches who just took your seat. </i> That dude ate cotton and kept his turds to string together and put on his head. And that dumb shit thinks red likes his prepubescent crotchstank and smoke? <i>Cunt muppets. <b>The end</b></i>

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