My job as a wood dresser consisted mainly of putting paper stockings on table legs. I was fired for my incessant farts of delight. Plus frequent masturbation sessions.
Sidekickers are like pot stickers but made of vulcanized rubber and other petroleum products, and may include gravel, dead bugs, unwashed laundry, linen handkerchiefs, dandruff, slag, artificial coloring, and mud. For best results, never inflate yourself above 2psi.
The sun came up today and then went back down. It heard that you were nearby. So, dark all day. Nothing but a vague sizzling sound from out east somewhere. Good day for napping. Feel free to leave soon.
Only turtles know the loneliness of being turtle, though they still make good soup. No idea how they remember the recipe. Maybe it's tattooed on their nodules, out of sight somewhere, and whispers quietly to them in the dark.
Am laying in a supply of air against rumors of a coming shortage. Not cheap, but where you going to get any when the factory shuts down? Also horse hair, for similar reasons.
I knew a guy once. His name was Don. He became a professional Lutheran and I don't know him any more. Kind of how it goes around here.
Glad to say that my crotch still works. Not everyone can. I show it off at every opportunity.
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Me? Getting a kick out of this, usually from people I don't want to know.
