Cookie Punch and Such Stuff

Ultimately, we all must gather to the fine ridiculous. Upon which time all things that have had sympathetic interests will find inspiration and good-heartedness. This, of course, is entirely dependent upon several flies who are commonly regarded suspiciously.

After some scrumptuous dinner-swapping and good laugh-squeltching, nobody (it turns out) is really finely tuned. Those that found utterly repulsive desires did, in good time, orgasm wildly. But, batteries were indeed involved, and some celebrities did blush. I don't exactly count, for all that is absolutely wondered is beyond those things which do the babbling. You know what I mean.

And then came many rabble-rousers whose fine leggings did arouse, and whose fierce desires did excite. For they had been chosen for wrestling, and manly were they who could grab sensitively their partner's organs of firelight. And shunned were those who did speak many tongued non-beauties of opulescent ectasies. Ironies did abound, and it was said by all those browsers of twead suits that the day would erect from the pits of flesh (and weeds) a thing of such putrid interest that all would writhe with hunger.

So, as pixels came to pass and many graphical interfaces were explored, the possibilities of endless copulation and penance by hellfire seemed particularly gleeful. Oh well, because like I always say, he who is named Jack is not named Dick.

My absolute and fine eye-sight, when combined with cookies and fruit punch as aforementioned -- I tell you with red-faced excitement -- means nothing . . . especially compared to the inspiration which did fall out of the hole quite suddenly, and with vengeful passion.

She -- in a sense of sexful metaphor -- is something of a mathmatical purity, of course, and thereby to be reckoned with cautiously. That is, if skylights are to be fucked, then thrust I say, thrust! But until then, we all shall find great victories in the by-and-by, and in variable amounts of time, when each cockaminie tick does inject venom, all will be healed.

O! For poetry is of itself not natural and quite distasteful among debutantes and diplomats, if such tongue-licking and lip-smacking can be tolerated.

I, for one, will not find my foreskin stuck upon thin rails of frost bite again -- no, not ever again. So I do suggest, and with some vehemence, that you take your rattlers and put them to flacid use elsewhere. Though as adults would be perverts, all children do sing as if copulating, and obviously without such innocence, they would be hung.

As I have always said despite dark moods and devilish tempers, it is a fine, fine thing, and of course, many avenues of prosperity, desperity, and veil-casting have been attempted.

Perhaps nonsense is fighting madly for sustainence, and if one were but to find enduring pubic satisfaction, all would kick ass.