.ah ****... i almost forgot... abdullah (the name of muhammad's father) - song: lucifer in starlight... another name you should know... in case some Islamic terrorists attack and ask you for the names of muhammad's wives... just mention... well... think of Stephen Vizinczey's novel - in praise of older women... then say the magic word: Khadija... who... being an older woman, kept the reins on the Batman (orphan)... she really did keep him in check, did all the accountancy... and was probably the person who wrote the first Surahs... given that... muhammad couldn't read jack-****! i, acknowledge the writing of the Quran to Khadija... for me... she's what overwhelms me to not succumb to the "******" Mary.

i found the cause of my "erectile dysfunction"
when i first visited a *******...
would you believe it?
        i was there for what i was paying for...
i can vaguely remember on instance
where my little Richard had more brains
than i had...
               ****** just would stand on point...
hindsight... actually, some jokes are
only funny with hindsight,
esp. the Donald Trump jokes back in...
whenever it was...
           but lil' richard was whispering:
don't **** this girl, she's trouble,
she's a nymphomaniac...
          which boils down to:
there's no delusion (i hope) with men
watching *******...
  yes, most of these men will not ****
the women, because the women are:
nymphomaniacs (just watch
the lars von trier movie)...
                    although no problem with
my first love...
the problem boils down to the Freudian
concept of: the madonna-***** complex...
it's not my "erectile dysfunction"...
why would i have no problem
with a *******, but when it comes
to the free woman of the west
i'm all: american woman by the guess who?
ah... now i remember...
talking...
   i remember the first time my first
love performed *******...
   just before engaging in the act...
she said the words:
     imagine what my daddy would think...
what?!
   i'm surprised i didn't get a limp ****...
honest to god...
    i remember how with a *******
you didn't need to talk,
there was not need to have little
bad boy, daddy's naughty girl insinuations...
just basic *******, like any animal might...
obviously culminating
in an onomatopoeia of what could
be words, in syllables of ******...
i've learned that:
                    the more talk there is during
***... it's like:
   the hugest turn-off...
  why bring God (in the beginning
there was the word, and the word was god)
into the church of Satan
      (i.e. ****** *******)?!
works just fine with prostitutes,
but when it comes to the free women
of the western world...
   problems arise...
                might as well turn around
and **** a goat or something...
  sorry... i don't need god to be present
when i ****...
                      he's far better off
in the synagogue of my thought,
away from my tongue that might will
to usher in a prayer,
just after performing floral exfoliation
or slurping down an oyster,
on a ****.

p.s. die sonne satan: dismal chant...
for the love of god,
i do not know where or how
i'll ever buy the copy of this album.