it's the pope's right to be fucked by any animal he wants
what's this, lifting up the lid of the cookie jar (albeit from where i was sitting i could only see the word 'cooki', but i assumed it to be cookie) Levich peeks his head in, his glazed over eyes darting back and forth across the cragged surface of the cookies, trapped in the narrow confines of the jar like lobsters in a tank,crushed under a mountain of crustacean or fighting to reach the top, only to find that their claws are still rubberbanded shut. wouldn't some cookies be nice right now, like the cats pajamas they are, glistening in the midday sun, holding their mothers' hands on the dew laden grass outside of the old church, listening silently to the bell toll its hourly rate, sounding off the dwindling minutes before they died. it was beautiful. i came twice.
as for maine, yes. yes.
find directions, go there, be merry. make me pie.
no one humps my leg without paying for it.
john stamos is a fucking prude bitch. i'll eat his fucking liver.
as for maine, yes. yes.
find directions, go there, be merry. make me pie.
no one humps my leg without paying for it.
john stamos is a fucking prude bitch. i'll eat his fucking liver.