So I went out of my way,
To be what you wanted,
I brushed all my teeth,
I clipped all my nails,
My feet and my fingers,
Now they’ll slip, smooth inside you,
Breathe deep, Honeypie,
Close your eyes, Babydoll,
I’ve got to tweet this.

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You’re a little teapot,
I’m a small teabag,
Dip me in your waters,
Spray them from your hose,
Make me damp and soggy,
Squelch me with your fingers,
Press me like a clamp,
Squeeze my insides outside,
Fucking hurt me, you sissy!
Be a goddamn stud for once!

I want to go hot and heavy with you,
I’d like to do that for a while,
It’s all because of what I see you do,
When you’re all alone, and you stroke
As you smile, and I’m smiling too
Hiding in your closet, panties on my face
Draped from forehead to chin, your
Fingers they play, and your fingers go in,
And I’m sniffing the musk that you
Made with your minge, and as you climax
Sweet darling, I make my appearance,
You lean yourself back on the bed
Right next to my penis: I hover above you,
My dick dangles down, while the shit
That I shoot sprays from waist to
Your crown, now you’re lumpy and brown.

And so you went to bed last night,
To bed last night without me;
Without me there, you went to sleep,
Went to sleep without me there.

Without me there, you rubbed and bucked,
Rubbed and bucked against your hand;
Your hand was where my fingers were,
My fingers weren’t there last night.

There, last night, I watched then crept,
Then crept into your darkened room;
Your darkened room, thick with your scent,
Your scent clings to my hands.

My hands are slick, your juices thick,
Thickening all around you,
You broke my fucking heart, Mary, but you
Won’t be double-teaming my black lab and your schnauzer
Any more, will you?
Dead girlfriends can’t cheat on you like that.

I’m working, striving, slowly
Getting back to baseline,
Searching for a way to come
Without seeing your face,
Feeling the fingers on your hand
Or mine, spouting off without
Human contact, shooping without
Flesh or bone or warmth,
And then I remembered what
Fuck machines are, and maxed out
My credit card.

Your thighs are smooth,
Like processed cream,
Your skin is pale and fair,
You’re in the bathtub,
Under suds,
You’re washing pits and hair,
Your fingers drift,
(as fingers do),
To fiddle with your folds,
Your lips, they part,
Your eyes, they close,
Your breaths turn quick,
And you explore your cove,
What treasures lie up deep inside?
Your web cam doesn’t show,
You moan so much,
You’re splashing now,
There’s just one thing I know:
There’s nothing cooler than the Internet,
Except maybe robots.
Or pussy.
Pussy’s pretty awesome.

If I was a monster,
My teeth would be sharp,
I’d be ten feet tall,
Or real small (just like Garp),
My fingers would be spindly,
My nails: raptor’s talons,
My feet would be fleet,
With breath stank like a felon’s,
If that felon’s bunkmate was burly,
And held him down with force,
Hands holding like vices,
Hips pumping, of course,
Then unloading betwixt the unwillingest lips,
That’s how my breath would smell,
But it doesn’t, you see:
For I am no monster,
Not going to hell,
I’m not ten feet tall,
Nor small like John Irving,
My fingers are normal,
My nails: unassuming,
My feet are just feet!
And my breath is not stank as I so delicately greet,
The lovely young lady who’ll gnaw on my meat,
Sometime after this dinner of saurkraut and beets,
A romantical meal of extraordinary feats!
But oh! I’m digressing with unbound conceit!
I am not a monster,
I am not, you’ll see,
Now be sweet and quiet,
I’m taking this key,
You’ll stay bound and gagged ‘till our next sodomy.