I think we can all agree that feces, no matter the species,
has no appeal and it's been revealed it has no place in
civil conversation.
If you agree just nod your head. It could also be said
our political scene is quite obscene. We're failing miserably
as a nation.
As the languid velvet goddess brings lusty blush to her sausage boy.
You're not paranoid. They want a piece of you, control all you do.
They took an x-ray, then really made you pay . . .
can you wiggle your toes?
Just email dlama@notyomomma.com
Tell him of your troubles, your busted bubbles, your assorted woes.
As the languid velvet goddess brings lusty blush to her sausage boy.
I know god on a first-name basis, without any traces
of conjecture. I never got the lecture, just slipped right in.
He is without peer; the foremost authority on relax logy.
All he does is lounge, and toss commands around. "Be without sin!"
As the languid velvet goddess brings lusty blush to her sausage boy.
What does it all mean? Is there a chiding? An agenda hiding
within these stanzas? Or is it black and white like pandas?
What's the deal?
What are stillborn words worth? They're just verbal afterbirth.
I can see that everything is screwed; for example, me and you.
It's so surreal.
As the languid velvet goddess brings lusty blush to her sausage boy.
As the languid
velvet goddess
brings lusty blush
to
her
sausage boy. |
