No good Limerick

There once was a pretty tall teacher
Such big breasts a beautiful creature
Short I was not a fool
Und over stood my stool
To reach into her skirt and breach her

eh 2 Brute - what is the world coming to?

A: Hello.

B: ♫ I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.

A: LOL. I’m again st nunpickled herring on account of a cold spmell.

B: I'm going to have to ask for a translation - that's not any language with which I am familiar

A: Picketing, picked herring, pickled herring. Against, Saint Again, Nuns, Nun preserved fish, Christ cunt, unaired smelly. I have a cold. Spell smell overpowering. Perfect for cunnilingual probing or too much even for my sick state, wherein I cannot spell.

B: well done. Apalling, but well done

A: I try :) As you can see, I am doing everything else except my godforsaken wor

Hard work

Went beginner indoor rock climbing today, signed up for a one month membership, and after a few rounds of 5.6, found out that I have muscles that sorely need to be used. There is something profoundly philosophical, or productive (I forget which), about risking your limb and life to spend your evening in the happy pursuit of clinging, slipping, and jumping from one fake rock to another on a dirty wall; or directing all your energies to climb and conquer a glum, grim, unfriendly rock that mostly wants to be left alone with its salamander or goat, only to come down on your butt with your arms scraped and your legs in noodles. Whhooo… I’m rockin’ out maaan! In any case, it was difficult to keep my chin and rocker up, and walk a brave, hard, rugged man’s walk, with wispy little nymphs all around me, pretty and in pairs too mind you, nonchalantly tackling 5.11s and 5.13s. I normally pride myself on making a good, and if not good, at least neural and not entirely unpleasant, impression on the deadly species; but what with my flailing around like a headless chicken against the fence, and my handy harness all the way up my goofy shorts and into my butt, and no doubt the stupidest expression of helplessness you might have ever witnessed written all over the mug, I managed to turn myself into a repulsing machine of no ordinary caliber, sending women scrambling in every possible direction, and driving them up the wall with every little eye-contact. You might try to cheer me up by pointing out that they might have had a lot more experience in hard mounting, but I am a spent man tonight, whatever your efforts, and can only hope to rock myself to sleep.

The sky is leaden II

I came too soon last night saw her arched back
Breaking through moaning sheets, her womb probing
No sleep I thought now “How thin her back was!”
And “Do I dare?”

When weak worms seep into misshapen dreams
And stir up screams from silver screens
Do I dare shake my strength to force a crisis?

There’s food on the stove, half-open, half-uncooked
Signs of castrated animal husbandry!
And sighs then, and I do not care anymore
But the worm still moans on I cannot sleep.

Dear nonexistent reader,

Let me woo you over and you my sophomoric, pretentious, and banal whatnot easily overlook. I offer you this human song in prosaic brute.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. I can think of a thousand reasons why neither one of us should have anything to do with the other, and she can probably one up me: In addition to my usual follies, through meticulous and consistent alternation between commonplace prude and silly vulgarian, I have managed to sow, bud and blossom myself into a drab and absolutely uninteresting flower of imperfection, plucked and out decaying now with no hope whatsoever of ever being worn at either end.

Your fault, nyah, nyah, nyah, you might say. But how was I supposed to know? Rain on cue to shut us in, a careless bottle of wine or two, tipsy caresses here and there (note: not initiated by me), and before I know it, here I am two thousand miles away, shit smitten and not into something that can never start. The sweet sad part is that for the first time in my life I am truly sorry over something like this; even got depressed for a few days. Now that I am going amok with woe blogging infringements, may this be a testament to the fact that most of us incorrigible beasts are sentimental old fools who deserve your pardon, and if not pardon, at least your private parts.

Rob Humbert.

eh?

Honest to god, I cannot focus on anything today. Shutter speed, I hardly know, her nimble nail cracked finger forgot to set; and in writing to you, I must fess, I feel as safely exposed as my wanton but not so very ambling darling dandelion. Darling as the dear nymphet is so easy to please – never mind my bed of pale fire, dear worm, you had me at Soufflé.

But why lionize the tooth fairy, you ask? Truth be fairly told, apart from the hinted irony, at which you might speedily shudder for the mess and flashy fuss I have made over it, I am, though willing, unable to pinpoint anything else because, honest to god, I cannot focus on anything today.

It has been raining all morning

Sometimes when it rained, and mon cher papa was out - presumably hard at work with the boss’s blond – mother 2 would carry brother 1 to the large ugly window that opened out into our tiny tidy garden, and thrust a small cup of lukewarm hot chocolate into his clumsy and unsteady hands. A picture perfect moment of middle class banality, you may say, but these are the grey gloss cards that cover my walls, and they are all available to you for 6 bucks a pop.

My Laptop crashed. Its motherboard needs to be replaced:(

Don Juan: My dear lady, won’t you lie on top of my lap?

Dear Lady: No, m'lord, I'm afraid not. My dear mother barred me from opening the doors to your entry.

Don Juan: ---(Aside) She dares forbear me. That vile boar! By Zeus, Apollo, and Hymen, I shall bore through her belts and break down her dams if I have to; but I will draw first blood before nightfall. I am parched and starving, and there, besieged, she lies alluring… But, break, my thoughts; I have ramparts to mount--- My sweet love, listen to your mother dear and keep your doors shut; but please pity this poor prince and offer me a window.

Dear Lady: I would if I could, my (seemingly) stately Prince (for my fruits are ripe and I am over well fed up.) But mother boarded up all the windows!!

Don Juan: My poor Darling! I cannot bear to think how boring it must be. To be boarded up without a single beard within! Let me inside. I will bring a bard - a master technician. He shall attend to your bored mother and all the other ladies whilst I plumb to your soul and cure your maladies.

Dear Lady: And together, my sweet prince, we will be fruitful?

Don Juan: The fruits of our labor, my dear, will be but yours to bear and savor.

Dear Lady: Oh, my noble Prince, bring me this bard to mend my mother and I will most willingly bend this way or the other.

Fortunately, I have warranty. I can barely wait for our good friend, the Dell technician :)

Limit 55

They found the old soldier only two blocks away. Heart attack, I suppose. Maybe the cold. I gave him half a bottle of bourbon once. He winked at me, but dutifully stood up to sing ‘Dixie’ off key. His limp left kept extraordinarily good time. And today’s newspaper says he served twenty for rape.