Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Read Online Furry Doujin

no longer # 6: We could see in the distance hundreds of fairy cake

hundreds of fairies could be seen in the distance. Rapidly flapping their wings fluttering, moving to the rhythm of the melody of the Symphony number five in C minor Beethoven in a solemn atmosphere. The grass was wet where I lay my body pricked by millions of sites, but no pain. Flutes, oboes, bassoons, trumpets, cellos, drums! Ta-ta-ta soooo. I looked up and the salmon sky reflected my smiling face. He felt the tingle of millions of little men walking through my skin and let out a laugh that startled sound. Or fairies, or gnomes, I'm fucking alone now, except for the pink unicorn.

Endorphins keep me in a welfare state and I feel I'm in paradise, My body euphoric rise of the pasture and notice how float over the city. I am weightless and ethereal, leaving me wandering in the breeze like a cloud. From above I can see everything. Violins! Ta-ta-ta sooo. The chimney smoke envelops me and I notice a slight tingling in my arms, my neck, my chest, my p. .. Will you bastard! I strongly slapping the air, violently away that sticky smell and my body plummets. I try to scream, but I can not vocalize and after a couple of attempts I finally give up. Ta-ta-ta taan! And the music stops abruptly.

At one point three seconds I'm back in the repulsive ground, covered in mud up to his ears and sore from the blow. I smell bad and my heart beats fast. Trembling, I try to build slowly and I feel electric shocks on my legs. I feel disoriented, my strength fails me and eyelids heavy. Do not let us do it, we want stupid and angry to fight among ourselves. To vote, buy, invest, breed and the cycle is complete. Damn ... Everything is spinning. I think it's time for another shot of my favorite tryptamine ... Hello again, small!

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

I Like To Masterbate In Public

1104

was once an ordinary boy who went to class every day with his mom. One afternoon after school, he noticed a window where he was exposed a huge chocolate cake. Stuck his nose to the glass that separated him from that spongy, dark wonder and gawk for a few seconds. He pulled the sleeve of his mother and asked to be bought, but she denied it, saying that sweets let him blind, so that our little had to give up his sweet dream.

Every afternoon passed by that window and could not help but turn their eyes to him. Every day a new one that a mysterious pastry prepared with loving care in the morning to impress our child star. Some days it was larger than others. O had more whites than black. Or almonds. He does not matter, was as tasty as the first day he set his sights on.

Days, weeks, months, going through the same window, and still could not afford. Finally, one evening his grandmother gave him some money and decided to enter the bakery.

I had it in his hands. Finally. Finally know now what he knew. He had imagined smell, touch, taste for so long that he could scarcely bear the thought that soon all your doubts and dispel the mystery would end.

decided to keep it for another special occasion. When finishing your homework or help your mom with dinner, when it made the bed, as a reward. Time passed and did not find that special moment that was waiting. Nothing seemed good enough. Finally, one evening he met a girl so sweet and special to him. Thought it was a very nice gesture to give this cake that meant so much to him. They had stayed at home, and finally, he pulled the plastic pastry that enveloped him.

Horrified, she screamed and jumped off the couch. He was left alone on the carpet while small worms slowly ran over her body, crying and shivering.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Collection Dental Letter

The northbound

a barren land I wander all day and night. My feet are heavy and I have already blurred vision. (Where am I?). I raise my head and I feel the sweat running down my cheeks, falling helter-skelter. (What am I doing here?). I look down, I have something on my skin. Turn my head in a quick motion with my hands and touch the mark. No, not going ... It's not paint. 1104. I have a 1104. (Is that what I am?). Blank memory and only a number burned into my side. (But what ...?). Keep walking, but my feet do not leave a mark on the sand around me. I have no place to return to and I'm naked. I am a number one among millions and millions of numbers and I are destined to die. Do I have a goal? (Does it matter?).

Monday, January 4, 2010

Wireless Confidentiality Clause



55,000 feet on the ground, -75 ยบ C 940 kilometers per hour, 2.9 liters of fuel per passenger per 100 kilometers, 600 tons, 500 passengers, three-hour trip front and a suitcase full of dreams unbilled overhead. He directed his view out the window staring. France, Alps, Italy, Switzerland perhaps, "Luxembourg ...? He wondered what would be flying over land. Clouds covering rivers and meadows, entire towns and villages rendered at his feet. Supported

on her arm, she sighed.

The world looked small from up there. Below were the problems, insecurities, the lies, the responsibilities, the falsehood. Everything was already so tiny that it believed could trample. The previous day had been suffering, but we no longer cry. He was down and everything that once was.