There are no followers yet

A hundred and fifty yards ahead of the rest he heard something that made the rash he had been sunken about that morning seem inconsequential. Advancing only his chin, trying to clear it of his doomed body he made the mistake of compassion. Looking back he saw the others stopped, waiting for a signal. He was honest. Two-to-one and then zero, unless... He had prepared for this. An instant pop and freeze ice pack, four days of Styrofoam eating trays glued ingeniously together for safe transport, a list of his top choices for both cases, a vulgar post card, and a zip lock bag.

A hundred and fifty yards back they all agreed they might have done the same. "He was always a planner" Remarked one, handing off the binoculars.

Five minutes later they were all united again, patting him on the shoulders, sweat cooled on his forehead, his eyes far away. Should he send it? Having been so committed he felt now it would all go to waste. He would send it, be more careful next time, and if he ever got a real chance again, not careful at all. Maybe carry a safety pin, sleep only with strict women.

amen

Reconsidering a loose one

Rub lotion onto all irritated surfaces, try to breath but only the breathing in part. Don't exhale for you might poison the atmosphere with your sinners lung. If fluid collects nears the opening, it can be given to the children, or used selfishly as a stimulant by applying under the imagination.
Doubtful and tormented of course, furtive and pernicious hopefully, her eyes beg to be diagnosed. Its not unusual at this point in ones life unless you are human. What if eve had been a total uggo? And to be fair to all the bitchs out there: what if adam was poor? just kidding freedom havers. all types of stereos are good, specially in cars. Drugs are for appearing on, fashionably, better safe then sober.
whats the opposite of the things we tell our young? verisimilitude? yeah. the darkness has to be spread out evenly just to be fair. Wanting of ugly horrible and getting nothing but toothpaste commercials great looking mothers and fluffy dog children say big one up to the sky. Great. just great.
amen

Like a badguy from that shitty trilogy

Spoken only in the clammy moments following moist autumnal coitus, rumors of buttered corn and spear sharpening prompt newly beds to draw straws for sacrament. In rising a view of unphotographable nudity humans one stiff, one astonished. The gossip is thrust into coordination and a short hair of significance.

sliding a ribbon ever so gently so as not to cause gaggings or sphinctoral spasms, we gradually mount all spending and return with a slight drip. Sore in a few places, sure, but having pulled through after hesitating moistens most groins.

Legend has it that he had to shake hands with the mayor eleven times before they could sit down. It could have been the applause of an uninformed wrongfully-impressed crowd, or just general mistrust. Once the redness subsides it will be easier to tell. He finds a hard time adjusting, and will reach for the rag and cork before allowing anyone to settle in. For hours until its forgotten they will press ripened pitted dates into each others tender folds, giggling about a traditional juice recipe that can be used as an excuse for anything.

So it was that facebook lifted the hood and found god.
amen

does every adult dream basically about boning yes

Birthed forth from the groins of our reborn beloveds, we quiver firmly in protest for all life. So succulent our conviction, so pleasant our humble dwelling, a gradual attitude replaces all doubt.

Unconditional, voluntary like the bottom of the food chain. Two parts spite, two parts regret, and a divine pinch of holy water over ice makes a cold drink. When does the shade of curly hair over freckled groinery descend? Where are your favorite places to put your fingers?

Once, Our lord, up to his elbows in moisture, became hungered of a sand less beach, and slurping himself free pursued the dream with fervent pulsation. Blistered by the undoing of his loincloth and skin bare below the knees he trod from race track to casino only stopping to bless the fecal worshipers and piss drinkers. Obsession frenzied purification lathered bloodmilk of the golden calf till the sweat of his holy brow lingered as a bull ripe with fire. Trading his last laugh for a picture of the virgin he climbed the stairs and stood behind the glass. Gather my flock, anoint them with my seed, get them tested, inform them of enduring tumescence.

And so we shall,

amen

Dry groin? no problem!

Lets face it, there has never been a better time to have a moist groin. For those whose groins are moist hurray, rejoice in good fortune and embalm jealousy and blame nature. It is a badge of honor, and also a learn to have a go.

All jokes aside, moist groins are a luxury and sometimes a necessity or obligation. And though this may sound like a regular saliva susie, versatility is essential to being water. (as we do)

Not all is lost, though some, and through the jiggling and gentle strokes of the great ones janglers or blossoms, we may attain all once again.

By mucking around we create order, and thus chaos, and from chaos flows the moistness.
amen