what's with this anglophone puritanical *** guilt surrounding the pleasure from the actual act? it feels like being a cow, bothered by a hundred flies. this **** can't be even blamed on catholicism... catholics? with what, 5 kids? they're the ones who are *** shy? yeah... must be true... let's just compete over genital sizes for un-emotional drunken & disorderly... ****! i need that turmeric infused egg-fried rice!

i have a vague suspicion that
                                                            ­   the genius
                      of the film ex-machina has
some feminist overtones
     in it...
         like it's some anti-prostitution
gimmick...
clearly, you haven't been
                                            to a brothel...
had you, you'd find almost
none of the prostitutes would
bite your phallus off when
                                giving you *******...
           it doesn't work like that,
it's not about ***-bots...
                             but clearly ex-machina
    is a propaganda movie about:
the "evils" of prostitution...
great soundtrack... ****** backdrop...
you lived in england where
the women abuse darwinism
and enforce this whole idea of:
fox & the hare?
         that there's some sort of
chase, or hunting involved?
       who the **** wants to engage
with that?
             divorcees?
   can't we just say, **** it... let's dance!
why is darwin the priest that marries
us off to living 40 years together?
based on what, the curriculum
of a ******* savannah?
      these times require crude language,
the english equivalent of
the latin *vulgate, like the first world
war and the need for zeppelins...
yes yes, and yes, i brushed my teeth,
        i could kiss you on the ready...
          but what? no...
      i'm done with the finicky game...
and i thought pick-up-artists had a horrid
strategy...
                    to know a woman's
psychology, with have jane austen...
        celibate and hopefully a face on
the back of a fiver...
        it's either that or jerking off...
why do these english women think
they're oh so special?
      ready meals?
     buying **** in supermarkets with
wet hair and wearing pyjamas?
     **** me, i'll cook my own curry,
i'll make my own burger... mmm...
   turkish pickled chillies,
sweet pickled gherkins,
  salad,        cheese,
      toasted buns,   argentinian beef,
      spanish (mild) onions...
            an accent of mayo,
                            burger sauce...
             tomatoes...
         if i missed something, let me know,
english ***** just drags out the need for
take-away...
  you can't even lick your fingers
these days, in a chicken-house when
finishing spicy wings... because there's
some freudian element to...
    ****... i need a napkin...
        she's the queen of the crop?
the crème de la crème?
                               the cherry on top?
as i said, once, already: *****, please!
   a madonna in cheshire...
                         a ***** in mallorca...
now i'm sitting with my legs crossed
thinking...
                that turmeric infused rice
that's yellow... oh **** me...
   egg fry it... add some cherry tomatoes,
some fresh coriander...
            some cumin...
       and then finish it all off with what
i countered the asians with...
   no... not sweet & sour...
    sweet & salty... yep.... honey... and soy souce...
    why do people have to be so ******
annoying... go to amsterdam...
       village bicycles on the ready...
and no one's moaning...
       it's ex_machina two-point-oh...
        imagine the ******* rubbing against
tight *******...
    which is a bit like you
     being pulverised by constantly seeing
****... she gets wet all the time with
the rub rub against the satin...
      and you're thinking: i better cure myself
with some l.s.d., and also give some
to my cat to become herr frankenstein
while i'm at it.            
   alternatively? drink some ***, write some
****, and cook something blasted into outer space.