Providence is an undead girlfriend.
D and I are writing Serious Novel:
She might be dead, but damned was she well preserved. Why waste perfectly good pussy over such a minor issue as her being... well... undead.
People said she was a cold bitch, but I knew it was nothing a warm bath couldn't fix.
Yes, a bit cold, but hell - she still lights my fire.
And face it - where was I gonna find tits like hers in a place like this?
Some days you just have to be satisfied with what life throws at you. Have you ever seen a dog complain over finding a bone? Why should I be that different? And you know, a man got his needs.
You find something gives you that kinda boner, you make sure you hang on to it as long as it lasts. That's why the formaldehyde came as a bliss from heaven.
Vampire danger is sexy, werewolf danger is disfiguring and zombie danger - let's just say that an adrenaline rush is a rush no matter what.
And nothing spells "excitement" like a little russian roulette with a bombshell like that.
Sometimes you just have to roll the hard six.
You play to win in these parts, or you're out of the game faster'n a lame horse.
And what a price she was.
Some say she'd been around, but who was I to judge? She ate all of their brains on the first date, and that means something to a man.
I always go for the girls with enough brains to back up their good looks.
Gotta have standards, pop always told me: "Son, a man's gotta have standards, or he ain't nothing but a two-legged dog with a limp dick."
And by now my dick is far from limp. I guess the old man was right.
Damn if he weren't always, except for about that thresher, of course. And the old lady.
But let's not go into that, even the mere thought of that old hag could make a viagra and booze-fueled hard-on turn soft like a ripe tomato in sunshine.
Bitch was like something from an abstinence poster; they could've shipped her around schools for edjukayshunal purrpusses.
My dame, now: there's something strictly for the locker rooms.
Time to get on with it, my mind always wanders when I'm about to close the deal. At least this girl won't have to worry about la petit morte, that's always something I guess.
(And I only think of the locker room because a good set of padlocks and some sturdy chains is fundamental when fucking the undead.)
There's nothing much worrying this girl, save perhaps for the shotgun I keep in handy just in case. Every true gambler has a back-up plan.
And that's fine by me, sometimes my kinks get into the territory of eccentric, but then it does take a lot to jump-start her atrophied pleasure-centers.
So you might say it's a match made in - well, Russian labs, according to popular belief.
But I know better than that. Heaven and hell are the real deal. I guess my employers are just showing their gratitude.
Halleluja. Getting your fair share for a job well done; you gotta love a system like that.
Even better when you don't really have a choice.
Takes all the worry out of a man, not having to decide.
And since this is already decided for me, I might as well make the best of it. I never did work well with a raging hard-on anyways.
Providence, pop called it.
Fucking-A I call it.
Life is fucking sweet... but fucking the dead is sweeter.
With props to cleolinda for her Twilight recaps and observations on vampire vs werewolf luvins.
D made it all purdy!
She might be dead, but damned was she well preserved. Why waste perfectly good pussy over such a minor issue as her being... well... undead.
People said she was a cold bitch, but I knew it was nothing a warm bath couldn't fix.
Yes, a bit cold, but hell - she still lights my fire.
And face it - where was I gonna find tits like hers in a place like this?
Some days you just have to be satisfied with what life throws at you. Have you ever seen a dog complain over finding a bone? Why should I be that different? And you know, a man got his needs.
You find something gives you that kinda boner, you make sure you hang on to it as long as it lasts. That's why the formaldehyde came as a bliss from heaven.
Vampire danger is sexy, werewolf danger is disfiguring and zombie danger - let's just say that an adrenaline rush is a rush no matter what.
And nothing spells "excitement" like a little russian roulette with a bombshell like that.
Sometimes you just have to roll the hard six.
You play to win in these parts, or you're out of the game faster'n a lame horse.
And what a price she was.
Some say she'd been around, but who was I to judge? She ate all of their brains on the first date, and that means something to a man.
I always go for the girls with enough brains to back up their good looks.
Gotta have standards, pop always told me: "Son, a man's gotta have standards, or he ain't nothing but a two-legged dog with a limp dick."
And by now my dick is far from limp. I guess the old man was right.
Damn if he weren't always, except for about that thresher, of course. And the old lady.
But let's not go into that, even the mere thought of that old hag could make a viagra and booze-fueled hard-on turn soft like a ripe tomato in sunshine.
Bitch was like something from an abstinence poster; they could've shipped her around schools for edjukayshunal purrpusses.
My dame, now: there's something strictly for the locker rooms.
Time to get on with it, my mind always wanders when I'm about to close the deal. At least this girl won't have to worry about la petit morte, that's always something I guess.
(And I only think of the locker room because a good set of padlocks and some sturdy chains is fundamental when fucking the undead.)
There's nothing much worrying this girl, save perhaps for the shotgun I keep in handy just in case. Every true gambler has a back-up plan.
And that's fine by me, sometimes my kinks get into the territory of eccentric, but then it does take a lot to jump-start her atrophied pleasure-centers.
So you might say it's a match made in - well, Russian labs, according to popular belief.
But I know better than that. Heaven and hell are the real deal. I guess my employers are just showing their gratitude.
Halleluja. Getting your fair share for a job well done; you gotta love a system like that.
Even better when you don't really have a choice.
Takes all the worry out of a man, not having to decide.
And since this is already decided for me, I might as well make the best of it. I never did work well with a raging hard-on anyways.
Providence, pop called it.
Fucking-A I call it.
Life is fucking sweet... but fucking the dead is sweeter.
With props to cleolinda for her Twilight recaps and observations on vampire vs werewolf luvins.
D made it all purdy!