Brass Monkey, That Funky Two Bit Clown Dyke Acid Cock Trench Lark Shenanigan

I eyeball her stench landmine, and my heart murmurs for groveling flap formica just as fast as a kangaroo flank steak on your revered pappy's lactating ass armory. I ponder the vicious agony your mother will have to endure, a three hour fuck-a-thon, and I realize that the bitter streak seething within your crusty bowel chamber is understood and lived vicariously through my magenta digit gravy crevice and the imperative flooze anomaly occurring drastically on the massively defined outskirts of elapsed time, perennial favoritism all over your palpable sphincter treatise in the melee of capernicous casplain karate death forbearance. I realize this doesn't matter when her face plate is fully removed and roasting on the fire pit, overlooking the bay. Her split-at-equatorial body outcome is harrowing but orgasmically satiating. Each ligament reaches for the corresponding severed outlets, losing track of the ever changing environment it was never meant to see. I socket wrench slam her head cheese with a disregard that is borderline basset hound. Her head looks like it was dipped numerous times into a volcano filled to the brim with formaldehyde, there is so much cum. Before she was dismantled, her twitching colon of innocence brought on the arrival of things like remorse, questionable discretion, and carnage fueled lawlessness but her shit fissure also reminded me of my impulses to calibrate anal kites and eat toast off of anne heche's sarcophagus leanings. I docket enrich her shit shack and I am now lifted above it all.

by Josh Greller