March 2010


I want to attack your poon-box,
With gentle, delicate touches,
I’d like to dust off your labial folds,
With these soft and tenebrous brushes,
I’d consider laying beside you,
If your bed was ensconced in fine cheeses,
And you were sufficiently relaxed ’round me,
To let out your posterior breezes;
I’d trap them in a paper bag,
And huff them at my leisure,
Till then, you’ll sadly stay unfiddled,
And free from sexual pleasure.


You’re not making any sense.

I have a penis:
I keep it in my pants;
When they’re filled with honey,
My dong’s covered in ants!

Now that we’ve finally met,
I have so much I want to say,
Don’t you want to learn about me?
What would you like to know?
Now that you mention it,
Today my poop was black,
With a yellowish under-hue.

A story about a date we went on.

There was a man,
A man’s man,
And I was that man.

There was a lady,
A man’s lady,
And you were that lady,
But I was not that man.

There was a party,
A fancy party,
And you were at that party,
That man was there too,
But you didn’t see me,
Because fancy parties happen in big houses,
And big houses have lots of places to hide.

There was a bar,
An open bar,
And I drank,
And you drank,
But you tipped the bartender,
And I drank for free.

Alcohol is a diuretic,
A diuretic makes you pee,
And you went to pee,
But I was waiting there,
Pounding off behind the shower curtain,
Listening to your sexy waterfall.

Why do I come around?

Well, It’s your eyes, and
Your smile and the shape
Of your boobs,
And I like that you put
Your mouth on my dick,
And we both know that
The best sex,
Is my sex in your sex,
Sexing sexily,
Sexy, sexy, sex-sex-sex