Let's write a story - 3 words only

[charlesbahn]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing

[dipso]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

[kstar]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning

[Jim727]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish

[Porsche-O-Phile]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison

[the]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison. Pale ale compares

[Porsche-O-Phile]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch.

[gassy]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping

[nostatic]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it

[kstar]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years

[onewhippedpuppy]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only

[DARISC]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that

[kstar]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch was

[the]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch was no substitute for

[stomachmonkey]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch curable through genetic

[DARISC]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch was propelled by CILIA!!

[Porsche-O-Phile]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch was propelled by CILIA!! Using its flagellum,

[charlesbahn]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch was propelled by CILIA!! Using its flagellum, it can tickle

[DARISC]

First there was the faint smell of burning flesh in the elevator as he stroked the soft fur. "George Bush hates rednecks" he said, punctuating a sentence. This self loathing is great fun. She went down to the well and pulled up her socks. Then cried, "I haven't a bucket to call my own". Suddenly, a large, chocolate chip loving beaver coated with fresh whipped cream killed them both.

Thomas awoke suddenly, dreams like these, induced by LSD, were becoming too frequent these days. "Shiny metal ass" , "RIP Albert Hoffman!", Thomas scowled sourly. He loved reading the obituaries. It gave him a sense of hope and kept him focused. A killing machine came to mind. Its grotesque features reminded him of his mother in the throes of post-menopausal hot flahes. "God how scary is the stench of rotten tumors. Not nearly as quaint," she squealed, but more like fresh doggie poop!"

It's time to; "paint the house", with Elmer's.

"Damn, another flashback," mumbled Lanny. He knew brown acid would be his new salvation, but salvation was not in the cards this evening. Suddenly, death.

The End.

Epilogue:

Alas, there was no afterlife. Nancy would mourn to no avail, because stochastic concerns of electric kool-aid wafted through her, tabulating, tabulating, tabulating- then Kerching!

She wore pink panties with white lace, sometimes, other-times she wore nothing but mirrored sunglasses and red lipstick with her Dipso locket.

Alas, since she had amnesia she couldn't recall the city where her last taste of sweet love honey dripped down her naval into her cup of soup. In fact, the open sore between her crossed eyes was already weeping. That beer bottle started another tumor. Fortunately between the purple monkey dishwashers Gogar's girlfriend wrote monkey sex might be no more attainable than a female Saudi President.

"Hell, Nancy, you flatulent gold digger! Someone spewed into my soup again." Thomas was used, abused, but amused at the sight of what appeared not to be a transient transvestite transiting Tullahoma, Tennessee (truculently, trenchantly, turbidly!). Pushing alliteration aside, Thomas truculently taunted, "pull my finger." His mother had considered circumcising him correctly but instead made the choice to chew it off, slowly. Thomas was not pleased after his orgasim.
Nevertheless Nancy liked a good lick on a popsicle especially an erotic shaped pink meat flavored Italian.

Imported every 30 days from southern Sicily, bypassing customs inspections, Nancy's custom sized gelato chastity belts had failed her. Her stiletto heels, carelessly tossed off, hit Thomas in the bulge in his banana thong. Thomas was certainly not about to complain. He relished being dominated by Nazi clad prostitutes screaming, "faster, Michael!". "MICHAEL?!", he pondered -

"START OVER NOW!!", begged Milt, who loved the taste of broiled stilt daily. Meanwhile, Nancy really wanted Milt to start over. Milt the Studmuffin turned in his license to love, upgrading to Superstudmuffin. The neighbor's cat curiously licked his nipple, then died. Wasn't the first pussy to die in superstudmuffin's hands; back in Nam, Gassy the Dumb, valedictorian in '63, experienced a similar sexual advance from some whipped puppy. No one really knew his name, except Nancy, but Rocky read Gideon's and tutu wearing ballerinas, just reminisced.

Altogether, the meaning of this jibberish pales in comparison to slapping cratch. AAHHH, cratch slapping. Vikings started it over 1125 years before dinosaurs, only to discover that paramecium cratch was propelled by CILIA!! Using its flagellum, it can tickle one's fancy interminably!