You’re a bi-****** as a oneself & you’re able to impregnate yourself
without humpin’ your 2-ton mommy or her **** we all call Tommy
whose crucifixion complex could toss Jesus off His divine golf cart
before the Holy Ghost from our Trinity’s Godhead decides to depart
so as to be a ****** Cairo, Egypt Great Pyramid lab-mouse *******
who ain’t scared to hack off his nose to live as a big-mouth breather
Regardin’ some people, you can tune a guitar but you can’t tuna fish
with Bob Stack’s hay stack needle tugged from the *** of Lilly Gish
moments before she received her Hershey Highway back-door wish
without the hot dog bun, horse radish cream sauce & chutney relish
Michael Robinson’s ***** is intact after cosmetical lifts quite shady,
to become Michelle Obama: the 1st guy to be America’s First Lady,
with 2 breast implants, an inflamed Adam’s apple & a *** prostate
that Barry Soetoro strokes for Hillary Clinton, ex-Secretary of State
who scissors Huma ****** early, to munch Abedin’s fur-burger late
in the rockin’-chair posture that for this gay muffler sits automatical
like environmental pneumonia that is treated as non-opportunistical
When your head’s cold & painful hourly it’s blue lid con blah clock,
the first time large sodomites pork you as that new kid on the block
while your ** pigs out on ham sandwiches like lard-*** Mama Cass
you feel the bed-******’ urge to yell “Shut up ***** it’s Christ Mass!”
Slow down in slight places, you O.J. Hertz Rent a Car lobby jogger
because no hobbyest, steady at wobbling, loves a star hobby hogger
when pine knobs in the drain will work as a bad-*** knobby clogger
*** **** chemists are doing it though they claim it’s not food-grade
the vanilla extract synthesized from cow **** that cools in the shade
No you can’t use them big checks & debit cards before you are paid
while syphilitic trauma rots cortical bark for a butler & his fat maid
whose camaraderie is a syndicated-business-share differential inlaid
After the dog pound gassed my small cats, Jehovah sent me big rats
to tragedize the tragical rat-poisoning deaths of Newkirk belfry bats
in a hamlet what cares not for boys or girls or old women or men or
surgeons who cut Bruce Jenner’s ball vas to make him a loose tenor
All I want for Xmas is my ***** stomped like ***** Cooley’s wife,
till there ain’t no ***** dope-dealin’ left in my *****’s doped-up life
for burn-unit help in cooling the cauterization of pyrophorical strife
that’s more back-stabbin’ friendly than a big sike-a-**** with a knife
I have been critically wounded very mortally by Cupid’s lone arrow
that has cut my ulna arm bone right through its stupid bone marrow
like it broke for ****** sike-a-dikes Bonnie Parker & Clyde Barrow
under the Tommy guns of monkey-****-eating **** Clarence Darrow
who made the widest lanes on the streets of logic illogically narrow
to constrict the spastic free-will of free-wheelin’-sassy Cissy Spacek
with the wish of recreatin’ a Forest Lawn-spazzy Missy encasement

𝗜𝗳 𝗚𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗢𝗿𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟵𝟱𝟬 𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲
𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙮-𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧, 𝗮 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙀𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙮-𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝟭𝟬 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁-𝗠𝗮𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 & 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗲.

𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗮𝘃𝘆 𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝘁
𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘆. 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺! 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗼𝘁
𝗖𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗦𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗯𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻
𝗯𝗲𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴-𝗹𝗶𝗽 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴-𝗹𝗶𝗽 𝗹𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

made Ray Charles richer than the pope and God times a trillion. He couldn't punch his way out of a soap bubble, but he could shrink down to the size of a microbe with the dark energy of Lucifer inside him (who was also blinded by disease).

Twenty-eight days and no one knows a thing. She's dead. I'm sure of it. I felt her corpse and it was colder than a corpse is supposed to be. Contact God. He'll know what's what and who's in charge.

L.B.J. went to Appalachia to see the way poor people ate nutrient-free grain every day. He saw rats used as carrier pigeons when the phones were out and meat soaked in vinegar when its botulism-status was in doubt. He saw it all: the decline of popery and the revilement of law that caused a huge increase in shoplifting at Westmoreland Mall.

I found an old nail in my garden that was used to nail Jesus to the cross. It still had His blood on it. I was so sad that I went to church immediately to pray for thirty minutes. When I was done, I went home to my garden to finish digging and then I found Abraham Lincoln's bath robe with the initials A.L. on the lapel. I was surprised by how well preserved it was. After several weeks tomato plants sprouted up and pulled to the surface George Washington's wooden dentures with corn stuck between the teeth. I wonder how much money I can get for them?

THE STORY OF DONNA, TEENAGE AUTHOR - Donna began writing as a teenager about other teenagers who lived desperate lives in the vast world of desperate teenagers. Donna's book, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, chronicles the teenage years of Kerry, a confused teenager and Lola, a mixed-up teenager who longs to escape the bonds of teenage desperation.

from Joan, a big gay lesbian woman who was leaving the state to become a forest ranger in Montana. She had big muscles and could lift a normal woman high up over her head before slamming her to the floor to ******* her for life. One day, a week after moving her furniture in, the big gay lesbian woman stopped by for a visit with a big basket of cheese, crackers and wine from southern Newfoundland. "I decided to move to southern Newfoundland instead of Montana," she informed Lucy sweetly, "and I want you to return there with me and be my lesbian lover forever because you're so ****." Lucy was totally dumb-******. "Okay, if that's what you want me to do, even though I'm not a lesbian." Ten years after that they had five children together because luckily Joan had a good-sized ***** to impregnate Lucy with. "I'm so happy that you have your *****," Lucy lamented, even though she thought lesbians were sexier than a dozen murdered prostitutes buried in shallow graves somewhere in the woods where nobody could easily find them.

Klareesha tugged on DeTyrone's meat ******* playfully as he rapped about racism. He was a ***** with strong ties to North American slavery and he hated it so much that one day, in the ghetto where he lived with his homies, he capped a *****. Later, in jail, he found out the hard way that his E.B.T. card meant nothing.

It is my original sin that kills everyone who won't shut up, not the 7 grenades taped to a nun or a U.S.-supplied Viet Cong machine gun.
It's the coarse leg-stubble that keeps my 2 legs from being overly &
overtly leggy as I day-dream more than ever for babe Gail Fisher as
Peggy, who could beautifully sing rock songs, opera, pop & reggae.

After utilizing a Russian ******* amputation kit, my ex-boyfriend Edward climbed the tallest mountain in Ohio with his ex-homosexual pal Marvin, whose testicles had been chewed off by a rabid antelope when he was 37. The weather was nice till a horrifying snow storm rolled in. "My testicles are freezing!" Ed exclaimed to the amazement of Marvin who didn't have any testicles either. Later, after consummating their mountainous friendship, God killed both of them.

ᴛɪᴛᴏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ'ꜱ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ - 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐢𝐥𝐥. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤-𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐨," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥.

He's known as College Boy, a young do-gooder with a superior education. What's he doing here? Waiting for the opportunity to put his college-training to the test. But how? By saving us from ourselves. You see, College Boy has a heart that's bigger than the vastness of outer space and he means to use it to rescue men and women who have lost their way. College Boy sounds like an amazing individual. What's he doing now? He's urinating behind that garbage can over there near a large oak tree. Is he married? No. He's a homosexual. That's too bad because I could love him in a non-homosexual way of course. Yes, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

with your big heart full of glass before I withdrew from the Olympics for D.N.A. reasons. The 1978 movie 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘋𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘳 features the naked front ******* of Priscilla Barnes. It's a thrilling thing to see because of her blonde hair.

BIG BOB'S SURVIVAL TESTIMONY - In the first few days I survived exclusively on light-weight birds. I would have one for brunch (as I often skipped breakfast because of **** warts), and another for early supper. I had a cigarette lighter shaped like Regis Philbin (or Mary Philbin) that saved me from bear-attack. When the bear was hibernating, I lit his fur (killing him till he died). On the seventeenth day, I woke up to the awful sound of a feminist advocating abortion while stopping traffic with her big **** because she hated global warming so much that it made her want to have yearly abortions for some reason.

Helga, please pass the medicated shaving cream. Okay. Hey! That's a hand grenade! Oh? Sorry. Here you go. Thanks. Got any helicopter parts? No but I got three string bikinis that show everything. They're super ****. Let me see. Hey, these are super ****. Where'd you get them? In Finland when I was a helicopter mechanic. I like them. I'll be right back. Where are you going? To put one of these on. What do you think? I like it. Is that your *****? It sure is. And what's that thing beside it? A hand grenade.

"Pay no attention to the automatic milker," a farmer cautioned his friend Bob who was a **** homosexual living cow-free on a ranch run by Negroes. "Don't worry. I won't. I'm a homosexual. Or have you forgotten?" Bob barked because he swallowed a magical potion that caused him to become a dog eventually through occult powers that came from Satan. Later, a small puppy appeared on the back of another **** called Ray. Ray loved women who looked like men and men who looked like mental patients. It was a million years ago to him since his watch got busted under the ample *** of a fat woman.

𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗦𝘄𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝘂𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝘀𝗰𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻-𝗴𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝘆𝗹𝗲
𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗕𝘂𝗿𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟵𝟲𝟴: 𝗮 𝘄𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗮 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲.
𝗗𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗦𝘄𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘁'𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘁𝘂𝗺 𝗱𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻-𝗴𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗼𝗳
𝗰𝘂𝗻𝘁-𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗻' 𝗝𝗶𝗺 𝗡𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗱-𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝟭𝟵𝟲𝟴.

I couldn't tell what was what till you told me after sketching it on a paper towel. Now I know and I'm a better person for it. No longer will I throw bus drivers at bottles or flush toilets for nothing or eat fish on banana day.

SEVERAL WAYS TO HANDLE A MORMON WHO HAS SIX WIVES NAMED BECKY -- (1) Invite him inside for tea and ****** but instead of ****** substitute harmless cookie dough. (2) Insist on calling him Marvin even though his name is Alfred. (3) French-kiss him till he admits that having six wives named Becky is immoral.