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I decided to start a new thread for this instead of putting the text in the funny quotes thread, because it would be easier to search for it with the tags and whatnot. And it's also easier to lol at it. Or spew hatred at it. Or both.

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIS IS STORY. First thread results =>

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One: I begin:

 

Watmm was very sad and depressed because three words hurt their feelings. Now watmm will be without tits or asses forever because JR can't appreciate them titties. "New rules, cunts!". Because tits are jr's nagging phobia and give him nightmares of being stuck in a giant titty.

 

There is not story or is there? Yep, there is. It goes like this...

 

In a world where sweaty balls drift up stream there r bitches everywhere, three tittied women dream about being pleased all day by the very best vanilla ice cream who kill for beans, spleens, and cocks - they suck feverishly, ferociously, unabashedly at the teat In the heat on the beat and then everyone died. Corpses, then fucked up beats and innocence, viciously martyred as was prophecied by The Elder Scrolls. The Argonian scrotum wrinkle gazette Big booby Tit Machine was malfunctioning, and flesh is weak and wholly delicious so instead, metal, unlike the fleshlight, didn't provide satisfaction, that messy implement, resuming its journey into rectal territories beyond your wildest squats. Richard James' wet, quilled chasms felt quite good. So much so, he came in Cytherean arcs which watmm rated a jazzband facepalm fart with boner index of 90101 as certified by Shannon Doherty, famous for her statewide sandwich competition. Masonic Boom waited. The lights were made of cheddar cheese. A yonder light twinkled, sprinkled, tinkled. Like a rapidly descending dong, a donkey dong in the face of a blatant accusation like Skrillex being avantgarde. I just lolled. As did I.

 

We, the people of the WATMM hereby declare that each Thursday, from about tea time into morning hours, all members MUST grab their ankles and sing thusly: "I'm a little salad greens with many interesting tentacles, curry powder and a slight hint of a certain element that could under certain circumstances be cheese". Afterwards you may, if Fox Mulder will take the brawny girl called Susan and impale her subconscious mind, where by "mind" I mean a bubble of underwear with pink antennae and sirch's raging haemorrhoids which smell rather like the plaid subforum.

 

I can't emphasize the wrong syl-lab-le enough. So let's emphasize my other quality: My extroverted coprophilia. I particularly enjoy [REDACTED] with an old lady and the succulent smell of farts caustically burning my UGH NOSE TO TINGLE in the dingle which clingeth to the hairs of several large manbears. The verbal limitation of imitation information, rhyming as masturbation, of scrotum oscillation while hearing The Temptations. Enough about myself! perchance I eat da poopoo some other time. How about fried fart cheese [thrashbear] on your bagel, no?

 

"We shant be having that. However, nougat seems to be delectable", Alice replied. Mad Hatter laid his dick on the platter and frightened everyone. "Max 5 words!", Alice moaned. But the nougat flowed onto the kalashnikov by Tweedledum's side; many large erections followed suit, upsetting the tea table and inducing mass ectopic pregnancies within six months after growth-hormone was administered. The beast became a serious follower of Jainism but forgot to flush out the keys to his skoda octavia. Lets drive to Brazil, via Grantham while openly pleasuring a small rodent.

 

We listened to Cmdr 'Pussy2Good' on repeat for days. "Did I say 'shant'? I meant 'shart'," mused WIlliam. Suddenly, Will.I.am grabbed a hold of Will Smith and stuck his willy into her will she willingly wrote for a couple of blue cheese specialists. "I'd rather specialize Alison Brie", ejaculated Brian Blessed while sneezing. Often, Brian liked to insert his beard into fetid bags of freshly roasted bat faeces. "A plastic cup", thought BCM randomly. One cup contains myriad Briegasms. The other, a small red mushroom. "Cum and mushroom smell alike!" Yelped Blessed senselessly.

 

"Call me Ishmael" said Joyrex, taking the mushroom rectally, and then orally, ignoring disapproving looks. So they said unto Joyshmael: "Please to thank the taint please". The roarous applause deafened the blind monks who mistook the applause for a stampede of Autistic German Seamstresses in a bad mood.

 

Now, back to the back of the strange caves of Krathog. An old hermit purified himself in Lake Minnetonka exhorting baph to chatmm and he emptied his bowels in anguish, crying desperately his wish to be relieved of his curry-induced diarrhea. That caught the attention of The Church Of Scientology. Suddenly Tom Cruise became sane. Lol j/k. He did yoyo tricks too close to Craig Anderson's face. Craig's reaction was like this:

 

QhFID.png

fig. 1

Craig's craggy good looks hid the fact that this thread, when played backwards, gives directions to a land of mystery, wonders and hairy, bethonged trolls.

 

This land was called Quphlixious Muffle Pleet Konstrom Perysmooch Titty, which was founded upon the Hydrogenated soybean oil cliffs of Lion's spunk jar, which he filled whilst observing North Korea. Craigs looks also abroad to the oil cliffs while writing Craig poetry: "Behold my tremendous scrotum of fabulous mysteries climbing the mountain of recently shaven badgers". "Strange." thought the buffalo, who had stopped to admire the view as they chewed used-condom-flavored chips.

 

Nonetheless, a big beat revival was imminent. Fatboy Slim was having a bad hair day which hindered his ability to make big beats with his big beat making machine after swapping bodies. He borrowed Prodigy's, and proceeded to rub peanut butter on his dick, of course. It was so good cuz it hurt so bad but it felt so right. But a new player appeared: A wild Snorlax. Joyrex... was it's name-o.

 

End of Chapter I.

 

 

 

Chapter II: The Knurled Shaft of Ray Charles' Induratio Penis Plastica.

 

He set down his dildo collection and vowed to never release another Aphex album. "I'll stick to my Elton John pseudonym" he thought. And then the rain started. "How odd that the rain was purple and smelled of piss." Prince pranced purplely whilst blue and red lights glistened like tears in rain--cold November rain. He realized nothing lasts forever except The Simpsons. "Bart get out I'm piss" he cried into his spaghetti whilst drinking a fuckload of bees. Oprah lifted her grool-soaked nightie out of Calista Flockhart's gaping bathroom window. Then came the kool-ade man and his pitcher full-of boiled deer ovaries marinated in purple koolaid and crystal meth.

 

Then the mayor appeared, bedazzled with semen chocolate chips, jiggling his glorious tittyballs. "I hereby declare that IDM- Fuck fuck fuck wrong speech, where's my cards? Troon took them away from their mother." The teleprompter, faster than you can say 'Faster than you can say', said some stuff really fast. Meanwhile in LTM-forum, everyone was banned because of some weird banning virus. 'Minaj's ass was too big' was it's awkward virus name. It gave everyone a boner, even the women and women-kids who had been infected. The only cure was dressing up like Batman and harvesting Vespene Gas using only a bicycle pump. "You must construct additional pylons" said the Generalissimo. "Now, three people must die." But who to kill? The Generalissimo glances in Sirch's direction who was busy massaging his own ego with fish oil. Sirch protested vehemently, "When Joyrex unfurled I was harvesting Yak's milk when I heard milk Yak's herd. But no Vespene. Sorry duder." "Homogenic was better anyway," interjected Homer the Homogenous Homophile.

 

Ain't it funny how White people always try to talk like this, while black. But can't best Black Dynamite. Anyway Sirch was confused so he grabbed an awl, awled gaargs pussy, unaware of gaarg's dentata defenses. Michael Strahan proceeded with his plan to punt the referee's buttocks from WAAAY down town. Said plan involved stealing a shipment of rehabilitated espionage llamas for covert operations OR SO WE THOUGHT. It's all a ruse concocted in the secrete to baffle the boffins from The Land of Puffins! Jefferoo jungled junglily as usagis banjo string perforated abusivegeorge's veiny hymen, making me wet, and he gushed all over and the perforated Hymen became slightly offended. Suddenly the hymen grew wings but didn't know what wings were. So it never flew. Fuck. That could have been the end.

 

Luckily, Meryl Streep chanced by. She was covered in hummus. Unluckily, she was then savagely mauled by a Bengal Tiger which had escaped from a nearby circus. It fellated her guts out. Real fucking nice. "Stop fucking Nice", France said. "I'm sorry - what?", said the tiger. "You don't know Nice? It's all about surprise sex.". Meryl and the hymen flew right above the field of Dreams (with Kevin Costner) exclaiming "If you make it into a statue of dry semen I will finally pupate and I will come." Reference completed. Costner ran from the cum but he kept making new wicker effigies of Daniel Day-Lewis auto-felatting himself while watching the ride prickface-esquely, as we all do. "I don't." said a narcoleptic man standing over the pit of terror, his anus exposed into Meryl Streeps eyes, causing her spontaneous combustion to smell like Jenkem poured into boiling piss spread onto toast for Hardy.

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE: The Slaughtering of Nine Arabian Penis-Monsters by The Pansexual Infidel Horde Led To The Inevitable Rise of A Syncretic Penis Worship Cult Leader? George Bush.

 

Meanwhile in Qatar...Quatarian volleyball players were devising new chess strategies when they discovered StephenG was posting too much and proceeded to destroy mercury. Then Morgan Freeman asked us politely to leave. With that dulcet tone. Then dispensed with politeness and shouted "GET OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT!!". Then anally fucked Jefferoo. Which was uncalled for. Just a skull fuck would do. In other news, white people are going to Nascar.

 

- Oh fuck yeah! -

 

Meanwhile on Saint Helena; the secret Buddhist 'Fight-Club' was about to commence with their annual potluck novelty "lucky-dip" tombola accompanied by throat singers doing covers of Fucked With A Knife by Cannibal Corpse. "FIVEWORDSMAX!", Shouted Johnny Rotten "fuck that" said Sid Vicious, then did a load of smack. Which was his only talent and why he is dead. "Tragedy strikes again" sang the Bee Gee. "Billy Crystal BCBG Billy Goat means nothing to me." Said Midge Ure. "Who?" Said Damon Albarn while smoking a hookah and telling crap stories of the literal fecal variety: "It was the poop of times... it was the pee-pee of times". The book was a bestseller in Nigeria. That's because it resonated with militant jihadists in the poo-poo. They call their life a spectacular ball-busting incorrect and confusing use of english. Now let's get this fucking thing back on track.

 

By the fuck! I say we all eat da poo-poo platter. "No" said platter haters. "Yes" said platter lovers.Things were about to get ugly. So Sarah Jessica Parker appeared in full saddle and stirrups on a gay humpback whale called Clarence Abdul Christian Rosenberg Rodriguez Rodriguez Rodriguez Rodriguez VI and Pope Gregory the 9th having been freshly invigorated by the cool breeze sweeping between the clefts of their manly buttocks. And those were wondrous days; In the days after they harvested shrimp, bathed in applesauce,

 

One day, Dr. Martin Ssempa left jefferoo's sentence unfinished, cuntishly, and sculpted busts of Powers Booth eating da poo-poo. "Stop saying that!" cried while furiously strangulating the sentence structure. "What the fuck"... said spratters when Wang fell off his Chinese bicycle right into Dong without pants on, upsetting the Chinese administration greatly. With great vengeance and furious anger, they shall avenge their fallen brother. "Those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers with more than three words and.... your peeeeeeeee----" squealed Sirch before clutching his chest and keeling over, stone dead. Although 5 words was acceptable. Then Sirch went to McDonalds, to search for zombie cures and smoked salvia with Ronald 'The Story Is Offically Broken' Mcdonald. A strange nickname, his.

 

Anyhoo, on the other side of the moon, Pink Floyd looked, saw spot run. They decided that this was a silly place. "Let's find a strange woman," said the ghost of Picasso. Picasso seduced a cactus with his "jerkin" dance skills. She blushed, farted and envaginated an entire cantaloupe. Cactus, fruit, what's next? "Whiskey and wild women!" said the obese lady of night. Her pendulous tits caused Joyrex round his ankles, forcing him to actually read the previous sentence before posting. So Picasso was like: "Lavate, which is beneficial. Lol you guys!" he chortled. And he kept chortling, until his head fell off. The head rolled and rolled, until Rick y Gervais stopped it with his incredible mind powers in a socially awkward way that suggested Kim Il-Sung buy stock in Red Lobster. Which he did. Then Gervais looked at head and believe it or not he stopped being so smug. Then one day Karl Pilkington also looked at head, penises touched, and Picasso's disembodied head lol'd at dem babylon bumbaclot raping jah's fullness of creashan and ting, seen?

 

And at this very moment, somewhere in space, he still sings of raindrops on roses and Mr Dobalina, Mr Bob Dobalina who we all know as the single-most IDM man ever, as it is written in the FLS Bible written by Flying Lotus. Thom Yorke wanted so badly to be included but he'd already promised Fourtet to cut his hedge so had to miss out on the wonkiness of FlyLo's soggy space rocket effluence. "Yo Nigga, this is some quality shit." Said Thom's wonky eye. "This is it!" said his good eye. "I'm leaving!" said Gerard Depardieu. Now all I have to do is find my legs which were recently voted off the island. They were last seen hot-footing it towards Mr. Manimal, from YouTube, who promptly got convicted for being too well toned and defecating on Tom Cruise's feet. Cruise's scatological fetishes allowed him to eat... da......na International's cleft.

 

Meanwhile; in a Berlin brothel, Ralph Macchio was plotting a terrible revenge. To people who never heard of him. He hated his goddamned bike. It was a shiny red tricycle that had a oyster compartment and a Peewee Herman helmet. He injected 2CB in butthole, just as my dream prophesized; a broken man's dream of living next door to alice, for 24 years, completely nonconsecutively. "I love bitches" stated Putin, while he sat on the Ritz crackers he'd just bought. It was the only way to let dem crackers pay for the death of his favorite hamster and Pussy Riot.

 

 

 

CHAPTER III: The Exceptionally Solid Bowel Movement.

 

It was a crew dem Rasta 2-step and ting, mwa ombrayla jam BOOYAKKA in your punani.

 

 

 

Chapter IV: Thom Yorke's Wonky Eye Went To McDonalds Where He Ordered a Generous Serve of Nicki Minaj's Ass With Side Helpings of Courtney Love's Tits.

 

Ronald McDonald said to Thom, "It is Burial who knocked up Grimace, no?". Then they fucked, passionately. Their baby was named Wonky Clown and soon developed severe coulrophobia, allergies to environmental blogpost whinings, lots and lots of aids, and shit like dat. Despite his shit like dat, Wonky Clown was not amused with the turn of events leading up to ThomRon's divorce. They split because he refused to accept Interac for sex. So Wonky Clown went on journey to Reedham and fucked Squarepusher's mom over on a high risk investment in a forthcoming Ronaldpusher collaboration organised by Baselogic Productions. and released on 7" vinyl "Periods Never Really End Sentances". Spelling errors forced the vinyl's deletion, but Ceephax came to the rescue! He tattooed Wonky's penis with an old knitting needle. It was a picture of a monkeys vagina.

 

 

 

Chapter 5: Wading Through The Piles of Paperwork Stacked Up on His Desk, The Drag Queen Realized That Nothing Was Easy When It Came To Making Mountains of Blood and Excrement From a Family of Porcupines.

 

"My name is Bloodscrement Mountain," said the baguette. Papa Porcupine, AKA "The Baguette Bandit", was drafted in to avenge the death of Mr. Roy, the Toxic Boy of Constantinople. It all happened within five minutes of Your Mums Abortion; a decent restaurant with an unfortunate name. Slated by "TimeOut" but loved by the cast of Cheers. Ironically, nobody knows your name and they're never glad you took that trip to Milwaukee drunk, high and wearing pink lingerie. A volcano inexplicably erupts over Neo-Philadelphia. Will Smith looked to the sky and said: "Whose Boysenberry Flan is this?". It was cooked to perfection none other than 17 minutes beforehand. He scoffed it down and had a furious wank.

 

Vital premature ejaculation emancipation proclamation desensitization insemination ruined story thread. Some members of the team seemed to be causing problems fabricating child pornography. "Lol lol lol" said the man with the goat. He then opened a can of worms by demanding a mauve, right-angled car washing machine on same-day delivery to Broxbourne county council; but he also literally opened up a letter envelop. Saying: "Bull Wallet soon". Obel laughed heartily on the outside, but inside, because a can-opener is inside him, he was in considerable discomfort. Yet he managed to have a wank and collect the semen for four years, before he could be re-elected as a clown tripping rootin' tootin' increasing-post-count and rewriting '1984' in Tagalog. Tagalog that a Filipino ladyboy obviously wrote with liposuctioned fat and a carrot.

 

"Whos cheese is this?" asked Megan Fox's pet dwarf, Jermy The Bean Man. Just kidding; that didn't happen. It was actually Susan Sarandon's vagina monster with lasers that shoot peas.

 

Wonky Clown returned because glunk said so. But this time he was to ream yonder. Yonder was like: "Wonky, dude, his pagan mask fell off man, put the fucking thing back over his face!". Burrowing feverishly savagely thuggishly ruggishly truly madly deeply "You guys are really bad at this", thought Wonky. Yonder was like: "Wonky, dude, stop teaching fruit Calculus!" Thus, Fruit Calculus remained mentorless, and generally disenchanted with his sexuality. Even though his large thighs spoke of mysterious lust for a large book filled with sea shanties and salty thrusts of a paraplegic gerbil's pelvis. Therefore, Fruit Calculus bought a new dimension to the ever changing effects of the 4th dimension on our mega troon subforum where the titties thread exists. And gay cock.

 

Ruptured remains in doggy bagg, floating in puddles of forgotten piss. Roasted Moose Scrotum was his maiden name. Big Hairy Wart, was his Indian name. He went on a mission on a horse with 3 or 5 malignant tumours. Each tumour had a story; each tumour had a name.

 

The first tumor was born of a broken man, meritless and directionless. Quoth he, "My name is SUP, King of Coolville and Guardian of The World Gramma and The Shitposts. Verily, I say I am a complete dick, of a Dick I am complete. Warm dick, Richard! Warm cunt, Richard! Die Pflicht ruft!".

 

 

 

Chapter 6: A Lazy Sunday Morning.

 

In the warmest climate of the sun, the second tumor The Land Of Uz, AKA The Sun Shitting Dick Nipples had cancer.

 

 

 

CHAPTER GOOD: Graham Woke Up, He Could See On See.

 

Then Burial said: "I am Steinvord."

 

*woodblock & distant 'Yeeeeaaaahhhhh'*

 

"Jesus, what the fuck was that?" thought Burial. As bullet casings skittered across the pavement, he ducked down an alleyway. Stir-fried badgers cock sigh made the alleyway smell. It was the Aphex Twins, Richard and David James.

 

"Lol I'm done" said Burial.

 

"Rest in pieces" said the Aphex Twins.

 

 

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

THIS IS STORY(2) Second thread results =>

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1: There Is A Wonderful Grumpy Teenage Axolotl On The Slopes Of Mount Fiji.

 

He was looking and saw a shimmering old man's bald head. And Axolotl screamed: "This fried chicken is actually a Conan O'Brien clone for real". Then, a voice replied: "Please eat me!". Flapping wings sounded: the eagle has landed.

 

Suddenly a dog came upon a bauble made of cum to which he stuck up his anus beacause he loved cum. So much can be done with cum. For example.. polishing baubles and lubing door hinges. But be warned, this isn't going where Jack Stencil liked to shove his bauble, but shove his shovel. "Hubble bubble" said Do You Enjoy. Do You Enjoy was a band of stretchy rubber that's important for elephantine sandwich making. Seven translations later we weren't even half way there although we'd gained a giraffe that a potato was fond of being a giraffe. Denmark decided that hair was enough of a distraction to permanently ban the gizzard lights, but people rioted and stripped paint from Richard's tank. Meanwhile the farmers daughter asked "What you think of Banksy?" Cow: "Udder shit."

 

Four Tet then excreted his full secrete identity, burlel. Burlel said "pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffpoppfffffffffffffffffshhhhhhhhhhhhfffffff" and people cried.

 

 

 

Chapter 2: The (DAYUM, Was Going For An 'And People Cried' Repetition..) END Fisting Happened Suddenly Inside Watmm HQ Where The Light Was Pink And Slutty.

 

Fizzling sideways brightly, a forlorn pantaloon emerged walking by itself. Skrillex has arrived. And promptly fucked off without dropping the secret RDJ tapes. The horses meanwhile were peering at the abyss, which bandcamp release was ignored. Seventeen pairs of (This is story?) pamphlets were distributed. Word t'your mother is that strangers were everywhere! Wielding cantaloupe melons! Goddamn fucking huge monkey people, running with orbs of fruit flavored sponge diaphragms and monkey-people DVD's were then used with great precision for anal poop based malarky antics and techno trance and monkey-people HJ's were not enough and then wept tears of sacrifice for the narcoleptic monks. And then I gazed upon 'The Universe Exploded' by Shia Labeouf. Diagrams appeared in Belgium. "Wait, what?" he said, and then a chrome sphere was born.

 

Sunday in Kazakhstan was the first of eight Michael Palins to stare into his gaping soul and expose the sweet nougat centre. Pissed pants camping is underrated because deer like to fornicate amongst the sinners whilst camping in pissed pants. But enough about Ray Mears. Everything is a goat simulation. Upon realizing this everything died everywhere. Except the Vatican.

"My dick hurts"

"Stop fucking Sarlacc"

"no"

"Down Syndrome Porn" said the Pope (he'd gone insane)

"But what about the children?!"

"Dick in ya" Said Spiderman. Also, he squinched Innuglia like there's no tomorrow. And manila envelopes filled with glunk aren't even Filipino but definitely Mexican food is best. When eaten anally it's not better than or equal to ludo tournament night by international squidphone or monkey-people DVD's. I should forsake Jake the Snake and his merry sodomites who like cherry-COLA slowly getting older and die grossly like my Lola who had ebola cuz we made love-ah. "Please follow sentence structure", said usagi the grammar rapist nightmare man quietly two weeks hence. Words were jumbled because of eldrich, horrible Grammargogototh. His mouth was an asshole, a babel-sphincter, spewing seductive madness.

 

Meanwhile, in Japan, Slim Shady walked into barricaded containment area and then his mouth turned asshole-y as you'd imagine. Suddenly Freddy lifted a finger to hush the absurdly over-endowed barmaid, because he was fucking fed up of her stupid rhetoric and comspiracy hysteria. Her titties swung like pendulous... shit, pendulums? Shit pendulums worthy of gasping with your asshole-mouth. "I know riiiiiight?" said Freddy. "I'm too sexy for this asshole-mouth, too sexy for this... what's with these asshole-mouths, anyway?". Watching The Pelicans Circle (his indian name). The guys from Pelican conquered deterrent cynicism. A wild Snorlax appeared so watmmers readied their anti-Sup lotions and ointments.

 

Slim Shady left the bar in a small eastern european hatchback and rapped about his asshole-mouth while working on his new album: "Rape God Part II: Electric Boogaloo". Until he fell off a cliff and died rapping about Kim.

 

 

 

Chapter 3: There Is A Greasy Asshole-mouth That Refused To Stfu Re: Asshole-mouths, How Poopy They Are.

 

Then Eminem rose from the dead and... soon thereafter died again. Meanwhile, in Burkina Faso businessmen started receiving a strange email saying "Hong Kong Midget Kills 4 30 Year-old Insurance Agents With Nothing But Harsh Language And Good Looks. Bill's Head Was Funny From An Old Sports Concussion And Down Syndrome. He Ran The Down Syndicate". Turns out Bill was the killer Midget, and brother of Eminem... terribly, terribly logakght~ suddenly appeared randomly on everyone in Burkina Faso's... Little old lady hooch. They then, gathered and said "Take a fucking timeout, Limpyloo". The crowd was stunned and Chinese, so, so, so, Sichuan. The igloo was smelly to the touch. As was then the fashion. And then God said "wubwubwub" before the limpy motherfucker broke his other leg and bought a new one and inserted it into Pafr. . Upon reflection, Pafr relented and enjoyed the leg within him (limbless inner child notwithstanding) [no pun intended] Flow, run, wended. From the distance came a great [the child within: named "Gunt"].

 

Gunt was a peculiar child, some say he touches the void [aka his asshole-mouth] with fingers covered in cheetos powder. Gunt licked his Cheetoh fingers. His father was using Ableton like nobody's business. His new track is called: Rotted Leno Machine. "That's a crap name dad!" said Gunt. "Fuck you, I'm DJ Dumbledorian The Creationist, Master Of Square And Sine, Protector Of The Magical Four-Dimensional Croissant. My snare drums are actually kick drums". Venetian kicks shifted three octaves westward and on result in 96khz digital vinyls made of steel. It sold on discogs for three potatoes and a llama that spits acid house dub techo. "Techo Techo. Is there an echo in here?", asked the jungle to the tree to the phone to the aw-inspiringly perfect government dog. Yes, this dog is responsible for matters of international diplomacy and intergalactic monocle deliveries. But his terrible secret always weighed heavily on his flank and scruff because the secret IS.................... indeed, terrible. So terrible that-

 

"Oh my god!" - interrupted Sir Picklesworth, Earl of Wandsworth, Proprietor of Chutney Manor in Slough. He continued his posh interruption: "What manner of secreted darkness lay putrefying within thine bosom? Lays? Lies? Is lying? Oops. Anywho, howst hast thou Holst's Mars the Bringer of War Impregnated into virgin shellac in spiral formation?" Dog answered these questions thusly: "Wow. Such. Very." Picklesworth, head tilted: "Oh, you!" Suddenly, a floating shopping list revealed the dog's secret: Alas, it was almost illegible, except for the part about how once, twice, three times wait for the Drop. Wob wob please help me win money. The dog had humped Skrillex and vice versa. Secret revealed.

 

 

 

Chapter 3: The Earl Watched In Awe As Right Out Of The Dog's Ass Left Handed Desperados Maintained Silence And Released The Great Worm.

 

The worm had the face of Scrillex. Out its clitellum oozed Joyrex. "Good god! I would." And he did. So much didding Joyrex did that he wore out his diddums. "I can't believe my favorite artist is using Ableton like there's no more dicks on earth. How will I ever normalize my body temperature?"

 

 

 

Chapter 4: In Which Our Hero Tastes A Bird, A Smidgen Of Pigeon And Wonders Of The Orient.

 

"Butter my arse"

"Pepper my cock" , said the whore Jeremiah Picksworth-Snog.

"Not fucking likely mate", said Sir Lindsay Horehound-Clit, dusting off his hands and standing astride Augustus Flatbottom's ample, jovial belly laugh consortium truck. The truck was roadworthy and upon its bumper was writ, so much writ and trucknuts that only a large little person would combust upon beaks on his titty teats with.

 

So anyway... Dear reader, I'm off for a shit. BRB. Why the fuck did I eat myself, I disappeared literally up my own ass into the Stomach Realm. Armed with only very foul breath, the stench of rotten semen and a shit cannon that was grim and frostbitten and erotically rusty, notched with previous kills, doused in warm virgin blood. Biggest camper ever perched beneath my rectum beverage (Abbey Ale). I sprinkled myself with icing sugar. (as instructed by Def Leppard) ((ass written by Aerosmith)) I started eating the future sound of Big Bang Artichoke Breeds. Alas, Bongo And The Feminist Second-Wave Hot Dog Vendors did not approve of all this cis-scum and briny maneuverings in the mist. Therefore RIOTS! TANKS! SAND! CHAIRS! CUPS! Showaddywaddy spoke slowly in reverse about LOVE! AIR! NAILS! ANTS! kcoc evol I ecaf ym ni sllab dna ǝɔɐld ǝɥʇ sᴉ ǝɔɐds puɐ. And then he pooped his Jnkos. He bought them-... Wait. Who is "he"? ["this is story 2" becomes self-conscious] [modifying the rules:] Read the rules. Read the rules.

 

''He'' does a shit. It's not just his bowels he's unloaded into that 2 bit dumpster. It's his soul. "He" said: "5 words max". Okay, but don't call me max Soz dawg. Max Soz Dog felt sad and then happy hardcore was blasted into the nuclear love site of the Boards of the BBFC, who will fuck everything. That is, vigorously thrusting thier toothpaste tube making machines and other fruits into the ouroboros rectal cavity located on his face. Max Soz Dog and his assface then made an "erection connection" with elder Neanderthal Smut of China aka "Tre Boneworthy" his rap alias. He rapped about his cute uncle's horseradish farm his plentiful yen, genital piercings, undulating wildly for sentences that make sense. All the time every day, in every way play with clay down by the bay- suddenly everyone died because a giant dildo fell on thematically ominous piano keys. Drama. Suspense. A cresendo towards

 

...but then Gunt woke up , ruining cresendos. That jerk chicken flavored dildo bounced off a hill of plastic cheese ensepulchred in ash. The dildo limped asymmetrically ramming every cram , nook and cranny. It rasped like an old crusty asshole-mouth. "I need orifice" coughed the dildo gelatinously spewing globs of milky spittle out of it's rubber soul before spreading his asshole-mouth completely shut and emerging from it's chrysalis. Yet he was given very little consideration by politicians in general. However, politicians in general are ignorant of a metamorphosed dildo's needs unlike common folks who understand it's inner beauty, its desolate soul's melancholy, but again the paradigms involving dildo tentacled octopi caused the extinction of all dildos.

 

Slim Shady. Kanye West. Gordon Ramsay suddenly joined WATMM and posted about the dildo extinction and gave his scallop recipe: 20oz of GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY KITCHENs, and a REALLY WRINKLY FOREHEAD! made a rich broth oozing with suppurating brie which suddenly manifested some scallops. Ramsey looked @ scallops and said "I'M NOT GONNA BLOW SMOKE UP YOUR ARSE!", but blow he did blew like fuck and sneered sarcastically at the balloon he had created. "Wow, you're a great balloon...", Ramsay said uncharacteristically. "You useless fookin' twat." Ramsay said characteristically. "But I like you because you cook a good Penis souffle.... doesn't mean that you aren't a cunt. Now excuse me while I beat off to pictures of Ellen Degeneres, while aiming at your philtrum. Fucking annoying little shits!" he finished sialoquently. Like he never finished before. This poo is cold, said Hot Poo Bear. Poo-warmer in hand, he turned on his poo-warmer.

 

 

 

Chapter 5: Meanwhile In The Clark Subforum Bitchez Be Cray Cray.

 

Wheelchairs were skidding ecstatically as they were gleaming the cube and compressing tha fings to crazy Turning Dragon-levels. "This shit is Iradelphic" said Clark while clockwork braindance guardians danced maniacally to Penultimate Persian. "Touching his genitals softly the lil-lol-flil-flol-flel machine laughed heartily and did unspeakable things to move the plot forward", Said Ruining The Narrative. "Aye, I hurt me eye! But My Eyes Weren't Real, nor are mirrors! Lol!" he laughed, excreting twelve adopted children in bloody rags all aptly named: Ruffnek, Cru Step, Babbylon, Nightcore, Logakght, And Skrillex, Ray Purchase, Steven Toast, Cliff Promise, Elvis "John" John, and Baby Logakght and I An I Babby DJ Wrekkit Pon Dem Boombaclotz. Together they set forth toward Mordor. And so, the journey started, little Johnny farted, Ruffnek departed, pretty sure he sharted, molesting all the children and was put on the sex offenders register. And then THE MOST MAGNIFICENTLY LUSH PADS done a paedo fanfare to the tune of 'Cunt In A Strange City' vocals by Phil Collins, sequencing by Flashbulb, lyrics by Burial: "Like dis if you cry everytim / bae caught me slipping the hot beef injection / staying G'd up into the early, un-lubricated, hours of Hawaii on Mars. / give it a shave girl, right between my toes".

 

My favourite things include: chocolate bars dunked in bathwater, drinking chocolate dunked bathwater, with a side of maaaaaaaaashed pooooootaaatoooooes. LimpyLoo re-enters the thread, he finally dropped the fucking assholemouth thing and shut his stupid asshole-mouth right over the This Is Story Timeout Chair cuz y'all can't handle this new t-rex cock bought from bad-dragon.net with 53 billion Coinye's. He then stared longingly into the eyes of the demon and wished he was under the influence of Bath Salts and handfuls of lavender biscuit cat treats. That's a lie. He really counted to twelve and trepanned a vole. Fucking vole, tired of your charms, yet powerless against them! I unbuttoned her tail. Fucking fake vole , I better take a nap.

 

Suddenly, as if by magic a god created life time members forum. Chen they called him. Chenforum was filled with seven unique Chen babies, three chairs and a stick, who registered under the names: Beesus Faffoon, Bruce Foresight, Titti Dum-dum. The chair's name was Nigel Chen-Chair The Third, Chen's illegitimate half-chair son from a former marriage to a chair he fucked sideways by a washing machine whilst drunk on gasoline, hair shiny with brilliantine, feet shiny with puke.

 

3 or 5 words? No. ONE.

 

Meanwhile in the slaughterhouse the cows were dancing to Jazz drone-core played through the nightmare-machine hooked-up to my moon-phone making collect calls to the rings of saturn. "Lick my vaaagiiiinnnaaaaaa!" Said an astronaut. Through a megaphone shaped banana to nobody in particular during a syzygycal alignment with Grimsby. Nigel the chair grew despondent and so decided to discover the true nature of asshole-mouths. Limpyloo, you are trying my patience. Cease now before something very bad happens to you. 5 words, Max. The mermaids were out again laughing with their normal mouths, thithing with a lisp, teaching numerous shellfish tactics and jazzband-facepalm-fart'ing tennis moves. Timothy Dalton replaced Brian May. "Who is Brian May?", asks Freddie Mercury, who was off on an excursion to get his brain removed by an expert brain-removal guy. Anyway, now his brain is removed. So how about we get down and boogie to the tune of a hundred bucks each for services rendered, which are: Fellatio. Also a regular massage. And chinese water torture under tightly knit circumstances on toasted artisan granary bread.

 

A fly in my soup and a pungent aroma of alpaca nether regions has set the neighbourhood alight and done wonders for my complexion. However, Ellen Page's delightful gayness came of no surprise, of no surprise it came and went quite quickly, thus surprising no-one. Well, except Gunt. Who shat his pants upon witnessing the incident and committed seppuku, thus creating shatpuku. And causing a fuss on the high seas. Squarepusher decided dad shirts were no longer OK so he opened his cupboard and took a robotbands, took out his Dick Cheney polaroid picture, and took umbrage at people questioning his umbrage at people questioning his collection of shaved wild animals. Twitter trending ensued: #dogperiod #taxidermy #nohair #swag. Twitter exploded killing approximately 14 minor celebreties and their assistant's sex life purse. A Sex Life Posse decided to purse appreciation and new release speculation also died.

 

Sting was furiously masturbating to Ly masturbating a goat, whereupon a CD of farmyard sounds suddenly started playing on Sting's guitars. Humanity was doomed while Charlie Sheen was winning for being the 1,000,000th visitor at the bingo hall in Lancaster. Suddenly; an orange guinea pig appeared! To be fed with mescaline and liquorice, dressed in chicken skin clothes and subsequently deep fried. The waitress didn't care that Sting was raping her natural resources because he finger drummed On (µ-Ziq Mix (Kevin Costner remix (of Bat Out Of Hell (Theremin Reworking)))). Eddie Murphy fought Kevin Costner softly, all the way over hate-speech samples and industrial hip hop beats set to 13/4 time, their glistening limbs thrusting rhythmically's twelve.

 

 

 

Chapter 6: An Exercise In Touching Small Boys On Their Mouth Parts, The Dental Region, With A Greasy Silicone Spatula, With A Bouquet Of Wilted Thistles Stolen From Mcdonalds By Winona Ryder An Crack, And Then, But Not Yet Then Soon Thereafter And Hence Forevermore Thereupon... The Small Boys Closed Their Mouths And Opened Them Making A Loud "THWOP", Striking Bronies To The Ground , Or Were They Normal Ponies? Only Gunt Knew.

 

But anyway, where was I?.. Kevin was bleeding furiously ... I clutched the knife... panic... TENSION! SUSPENSE! DRAMA! "Oops sorry, too much me, I'll take a break" thought Sting as he sipped some tea. Does Gunt have a mohawk? Maybe it's just a fauxhawk, decided Whoopi Goldberg, who just chanced by a delightful little summer cottage made of chocolate stout bottles, exclaimed she would always love chilli-dogging Ellen Page. 2058 is the code she'd been given by a vagrant smelling vaguely of parmesan, coriander and custard cream biscuits. "Holy fuck" screamed StephenG, who appeared suddenly and, dressed in illuminati regalia, proceeded and a stupid fucking bowtie with legs walked over and said "My Bronie licence has expired, gief extended bronie license, fedora and friendzone included lifetime membership plz". Various flavours of pie were exchanged and the IDM mobsters and semen guzzling scenesters gaily pranced around a non-euclidean bush with testicles the size of watermelons, discussing hairy ball theorem.

 

"Oh my GOD. Run. It's Paul fucking Rudd!" Paul Rudd exclaimed to himself and Thom Yorke conversationally, then promptly peed his pants. And decided he would never read FACT again. 2 unicorns appeared gradually over the course of 7 meals, starting with an appetizer of braised prawn face and gently-rustled jimmies and ending with death. Oh and dog shit fondue. Anyway, Hitler was busy with baking cookies in his new cookie-baking spaceship. Suddenly BCM pranced inunbuttoned his shirt, revealing Compson. Hitler was most delighted. He licked Compson's oily forehead, then he fuhrerowed his brow and declared emphatically, "bow chicka wow wow". And slowly took off his disco shoes and threw them at Gunk, who was somehow nearby. Gunk felt he was cismale, but Glunk, his female twin, and Gunt, the older twin brother to Cunt (the ugliest of the four twins) recently disfigured by disco shoes, all identified as genderfluid. Genderfluid On The Disco Shoes felt he was by far the coolest. 'Initialised The Spaceship For Cookie Overdrive' was a song he wrote for Hitler performed on 18 kazoos by Squarepushers robot band from the wrong side of history. Maybe the fastest Kazoos in a 2 meter radius. The lyrics made Burial cry and went like this:

 

Scooby dooby dattle doh.

Here's is Johnny so let's go.

I got serious problems with

People who can't use a sieve

to de-bug ketchup

 

OH YEAH!

 

Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby,

5 babies in a cupboard

Squarepusher opened the cupboard

and dropped the bass

Etc.

It was never recovered.

On the other side of the world, a special baby was born. "Do you need debt recovered?" Were the baby's first words. Born to be a legendary salesman and a reluctant ales man. He always wore sunglasses made of lead, too heavy to take off, too cool to touch, too leadpoisoned to live. He lived a short life. Radiation resistant, but short. In a specific Irish Pub wear the beer tasted like piss, where darts were thrown and worn like the beerpiss. Where kings boiled baby's bottle to sanitize it from the devil whilst listening to Val Doonican try to rap Coolio's 'Gangster's Paradise' which was mastered by Roachford (Of Cuddly Toy Fame).

 

Trent Renser's marinated left bronchial tuber was definitely pickle and jar worthy which took prominent display in the book of mormons alongside other works of art by Sean Booth's Mother and Ellen Page's heterosexual friend. They all depicted a donkey riding a dock leaf dockleaf in watercolours and dockleaf crushed with cochineal dreams. All the forgotten artists of the Byzantine period aka Fred's Island for Misfit Toys gathered and sculpted a giant (the) dong from the ashes of their Sherlock Holmes style pipes and made love with indifference. Liv Tyler finally decided to confront God. She found his hiding spot: Then decided it would be just like God not to be in her vagina. A state of bearddom Vagina. In the state of Bearddom. Starring Dennis Quaid as a dockleaf. It became the new dubstep with beard queefs as theme ingredient, and massive hurdy-gurdy drops

 

...

 

from Kirsten Stewart's perspective, this new genre should be called Rob FordCore. Which involves drinking Red Stripe and snorting money and falling over a lot of trash thrown on the ground while MCing brutal dancehall forever. "Raasclaat!" shrieked the MC as he smacked the dj with a lyric sheet inscribed with binary code and urine. The stench caused the DJ to play some Tiesto to a roomful of dead bodies. Shackleton used an bongo. The dead loved the trance and melted cheese cheese cheese onto a triple decker grilled cheese sandwich with cheese and cheesy peas encrusted with cheesy fleas imbued with the power to breed more cheesy fleas who prefer Siamese if you please. And squeezy cheezy peas and sub-bass wubs most suited for clubs and Rihanna's cat chubs. Rubba Dub Dubs was the name of my foreign ex-girlfriend.

 

Meanwhile, halfway up Mount Everest, another Starbucks was opening its pores which oozed vile coffee secretions and shitty music like The Brit awards might do. "Oh shit my face has fallen off" Tweeted Kurt Russell from his favourite Starbucks coloured queef blanket simulator. And still, everybody smelled cheese. The main character doin' the locomotion

 

 

Kylie-Minogue-1.jpg

fig. A

*edit*

Damn PC crashed. Carry on up the Khyber sucked the Miocene epoch. Creamy vestibule of the magnificent ego satisfaction projected on jumbo-tron, the Calcium Fractal Prince. The Prince formerly known as Shub Niggurath, god of tasteful politically correct jokes baked in a giant afterbirth.

 

 

 

Chapter 7+8: His Cousin Geoniade Armpit Was Closing His Sandal Shop Early As It Was Stormed By A Parade Of Midgets Singing "IT"S LITTLE PEOPLE" In Reverse Reverse In "Elopep Elttil S'ti"

 

After reversing in, they practised moonwalking in reverse cowboy fashion. Almost like docking but with an AC Slater twist. It was evil but felt good, like ghostwanking river of slime (off Ghostbusters II). The parade continued moonwalking through the fudge of man's broken dreams, undreamt, while rebelling against daydream parfait and marshmallow monsters. "Please let this die". And so he did die a dithering deathly deathly dithering. Like the opposite of life, efil in reverse. Quoth the raven, "Bitch, I might be, but bastard I am". Thus the supernova imploded with a great sigh.

 

King Constantine cracked his whipping cream gas canister, wrote "I love sharks" on a baby, and then, and then, and then, (!-?) collapsed, farting like a balloon that contained the universe. "The Big Bang Theory", universally declared the shittiest show. Scat fetishists rejoiced throughout the Ionosphere, another season was confirmed and then god created man... from His holy nail clippings, and woman from a length of old umbilical cord. God then went on holiday to hang out with his reptile buddies in The Vatican. The weather was Revelationsesque, raining sausage flavoured yogurt and damnation flavored angel tears, turquoise snow fell from every orifice of everyone everywhere. The sinuous cock meat stick of doomly doobsteppers was dropped by God into his phrase sampler and scrambled to within an inch of its meaty cock-life receiving 7.4 on Pitchfork before corrected to 10.0 Best New Meatcockblockerstep.

 

Dribbling ungulate; claw-pages clamouring. The 1000th reply was shit. So was the 1001st. So watmm collectively decided to end the story. "The end was nigh" said Dave Lee Travis running for the hills copping a feel upon the sacred breasts of Marmaduke while sobbing uncontrollably into a wet rag which resembled Benedict Cumberbatch heading towards the final bone frequency indicating that this tale might never ever end. It was a new beginning, in some ways also an ending of doubt about ending, an ascent. Brian Eno overdosed in Ambien worse then mood bells Reaching a smokey climax of anal miscariage. True story. The endoscopy had been a success! Set to release three sperms at 20 year intervals before imploding into babby.

 

 

 

Epilogue: Across The Frozen Tundra The Sound Of Vinyl Crackle In Sirch's Masturbatorium Only Served To Reinforce Alpha Waves By Synchronised Flatulence, Curdling The Already Fetid Air Full Of Putrid Fart Whispers And Thousands Of Wank Ghosts And Silent Rose Petal Screams.

 

Sirch awoke, in filthy robe and wizard hat. Quoth he, "Where did I put my wooly, where did I put my tie , where did I put my shirt, EVERYYYY DAYYYYY I wolf out on diarrhea pie". Meanwhile, in Gunt's brain thousands of tiny dancing baby GIFs glitched out to the humble sounds of brostep on ice from his foaming puss butt. Gunt questioned "Why ME?" then finally died to the relief of ಠ_ಠ his hateful family of robotic kazoo players who cheered at his funeral. Sirch however, did not cheer. No. He did fear. The spirit 'o Saville. Poop poop dayoop poop dayoop was sung by Lil Georg-e Boiii an octave too high so as to summon the auto tune ghost of Christmas future, with the body of Kanye and the penis of a badger baiting farmers son.

"What is your autotune wish?"

"To sound like Keith "cheggers" Chegwin. THROW ME INTO THE OCEAN! Show me your inside of your house. It only takes a minute girl."

 

Daft Punk appeared, no. Baykon, (h)egg, sausmage, mushrum in mein Bernsteinzimmer. "NOT NOWWW!!" Robocop begain wailing, then shot off everybody's dick. Wub wub wub. A feminist appears holding two golden urethral sounds on gold records spinning at the speed of sound. Robocop, bewildered, shrieked "WHAT?!!" (?!-(...).) and received a standing ovation. "Killing in the name of stealin' me fackin' loightah motherfuckaaaaaa!!!! UGH!" The fat lady sang, before having a massive sit down dinner with the pope, smoking copious of amounts, the largest of quantities, and self-replicating, etc. And such. A shame too because if you peered around the flab it was nice outside. And the pigeons were singing the theme to the theme to Squarepusher which is also the theme of an annoying meme but not as annoying as the Aphex Twin Subforum. Oh no he didn't. Oh! Yes, he did. Die antwordtwin doesn't make sense. Like wagrelpushfimp or fringytalamuska, or floccinaucinihilipilification, etc.

 

Displeased were the degenerate 'twin fans. They resorted to drinking coffer brand truth syrum and began squintering's hodgemitiously. Robocop, robocop, robocop-op-op-op op-up op-up ooooooooo-i-i-i-i said Hoggy, original avatar reinstated. StephenG didn't know about hello spiral's fluid ice cool coolness, So cool in fact that it was cold in the D. Even his cool pink pom-poms shattered into very cool shards and hit craig anderson's face. And became lodged in my Nexus 4 using Tapatalk. Robocop's asshole sighed dejectedly, another visitor was knocking at his cyborg asshole- like a camera aperture, it got stuck and didn't work properly causing severe anal polyps of the mechanical lense.

 

Meanwhile, on some multi-functional stairs, I woke up hungover with the taste of memories, in my armpit Japanese fart fights had been going on for years now and again the winner takes it all day long in the camera aperture, jizz dribbling onto the stairs! Beautiful oaken stairs with baroqueish carved squirrels and acorns, that doubles up as a urinal. "Kawaiiiii!" squealed Robocop as Ludd inserted his arm into nothing. The end.

 

Once upon a donkey's carbunkle, lived a wee li'l MRSA bacterium alongside some Ukranian riot police all called Gerald. They pranced to Voodoo Ray as Voodoo Ray would prance to save his life. The fifth, no, make that sixth polyunsaturated fuck sandwich, cholesterol? Not even a problem said anyone about anything ever, especially mr Hungover Zephyr Man. Who became evermore giddy whilst urinating cat food onto poop floor beneath the coffee machine that makes diarrhea-flavored coffee. "I take mine black and nutty" said the owl while searching for mouses and doing advanced calculus over a pit of lava.

 

Winnie and Eeyore looked. Donald and Goofy listened. Cheerleaders cheered and divers dived haters hated and lovers kissed, bloods clotted and creeeeeeeeeaaaam clotted, suns shined and garbage rotted, stalkers stalked and assassins plotted.

 

 

 

AFTERWORD:

 

We would like to thank Jesus, mom and dad, all the bicycle seat sniffers (mmmmmmm, nice) and the nun, and Adolf Hitler's feet we're not invited, but Robocops metallic balls secreted mercury with gusto into stephens chicken soup. =( And on it went... But will it blend? And on.. and on... it *blood fart* birthed somehow, like an organ that would never blend, never get squirted from a lubed flesh-pipe, a song of joy, a never ending song of organ failure, squirming in mucus. Karl Marx. Siegfried and Roy, both dead and bleeding. Die Antwoord and Aphex. The dog skidmark on Rulohead's forehead. Ambient brostep? Triachus' balls, his crack, his neck, his back. Don't want no short dick man (because I'm an elephant mix) ...? His back don't want no...? Baby back, ribs. This was story (2). G'night.

 

 

 

Bibliography:

 

I don't know how this got to page 50. New York Times, Feb 10, was a good day-light savings time opportunity.

 

This story couldn't have happened without and within The people of IDM, a small village in Ghettoville, Technolalia, Hades. Suddenly, out of nowhere, another sentence began but then ended abruptly. H.I.V. Amenbreak was invented by Sir Horace Amen, Esq of the house of A-BOOGA-BOOGA-BOOGA© Brand of Scary Monster Masks. "Welcome to primetime, bitch!" He said frisking his genitals, somehow politely. "FUCK MY HEADACHE". They do... not sure how, but headache fucking ensued and uhh... um... hmm. a lovely migraine was born ... and then uhhh..... uhhh...... ... He took the LSD, plug out technology and he thought, "now that's Acid Jazz vol. 8", and labeled it accordingly.

 

O freddled gruntbuggly, O pickled mildew hammer there thusn't protrudingly thus and so begins our story.. of underwhelmed customers and eager smugglers trapped in shipping containers with shitting babies.

 

We'd also like to thank the axolotl doubling as ... something from Happy Days. Sigh. The clock ticking mundanely to the beat of cock/ver10, was loud and clunky, unlike my imminent queef flurry. I came immediately. I hoovered up the jizz immediately. Immediately following which, immediately I procrastinated for a long time. "Heeeey!" said Fonzy taking a rather large shit on the jukebox , and selecting The Marcel's Blue Moon. He began gyrating violently to the music immediately before penetration, shoving his little finger immediately into a nearby rare breed of pig. Fonzy snapped his fingers and the curly coated pig squealed "yeehaw?" and immediately nuzzled Fonzy's balls of tennis ... his pink, hairy tennis balls... which he liked to carry around in his scrotum of 'Tennis Blunders 4: What A Balls Up'.

 

"Oh dear, beat to the punch", the lil-lol-flil-flol-flel machine laughed again. The pig's dick began glowing, growing, groaning, gagging and gushing. "Phone home", it said quoting E.T., as usual before morphing into Bill Cosby and doing the funny jello thing! Random... references...?! NONSENSE!! Torrents of semen rain smacked the balls glazing them like delicious donuts to be eaten by The Fresh Prince! "Tha-h-aaank... yoouu!!" screamed Fonzy in delight as John McEnroe dealt the wrong hand, started to cry immediately. Tears squirted from his swollen glands and hands, swollen... coated in PIG SEMEN!!!

 

"Do you know any sailors? or tailors?" Said Carlton, king of sea men.

 

"No, but I can recommend a good story..." *

 

* (see chapter 1 for story)

 

 

 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

 

 

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...............

 

 

Clear!

 

 

KASHUNK!

 

 

.....

 

 

 

rip.

 

 

 

 

FIN.

 

read Huckleberry's tombstone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here's an amusing .gif that some may feel as a relevant representation of their sentiments towards this thingie.

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AUDIOBOOK NOW!!! HURRY UP SPIRILLIANS!!!

 

nice riker chair skills btw

Edited by hoggy
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