close curtain call

her eyes smelled like raisins marinated in piss. i knew something was a foot. i shoved my locator probe up her ass and she yelped a dollop of barf.

i luved her and owl, but this was owl getting to be a bit munch.

the probe stated immediate bail trailing results. i galloped out of the room smelling as hard as i could thinking "surely somewhere in here is there something that must be a close facsimile of beat smell."

i spotted Terrick's "Fisher's Pride Onion Deep" sitting on the table from the night before. i was sweaty, but i knew that it's funk lay in it's king fung flake.

i hurriedly crab crawled bag into the board room and smathered some of the crumple up thawts on her thigh eyes. she moaned and cooed like a shellfisch chylde being sent outside for mono gliding with an accordion butler pump.

i put her back in her nutshell and called it a knight by jaggin my awful to a picture of johnny mccain's wifey.