I've always liked Winter better anyway.
I discovered many things recently. I have a friend, we call Night Cummings. He has this amazing ability to have a wet dream almost every night. No urine sir, none of that. Just pure cream.
Late night, as he dreams about the nude ones. Those children running around in a cave, fairy wings and black eyes. Moving like the recently animated dead. I see his tiny pig penis crawl out from the hole in his tighty whities. It emerges, erect, I can count the veins in his cock from here. Each one pulsating in unison before releasing a lightning storm of a web like sperm. It collects around the walls and ceiling all the while still attached to the penile source. Flies and moths find their death in his gooey white sex trap. With each flap and seizure, they shake the cum web about, but their struggle is in vein, they can never escape. As he tosses and turns in his sleep, the webbing wraps around him until he is fully encased in it, from head to toe. He is in the coma cocoon now. And is motionless.
Time passes and soon the sun does raise. He begins to stir in his spermy chrysalis and the man strands part as he emerges from his encasing. He has reached his final stage, and now he stands nude. But he is no longer what he was. He is now the female butterflown space child, stained glass wings, and blood tears running down her face. A soft tender body, wrapped in pale blue skin. Two antennea with glowing orbs on either end pertrude from under her long red hair. As the light pours from yonder window, it shines through her wings, painting the room like church. A warm, yet oppressive glow. She spreads her newly found wings and tilts her head back with a smile. Set free by the transformation created from chemicals normally meant for a two person reproduction job, shes managed to DIY. With a flutter and flit, she lifts from the ground and glides out of the open window. This is the birth of meloncholy, and her name be Dessica.
I recall when it got so warm, that my foreheaded friend began to sweat brown. Trails of a thick brown sludge oozed over his forhead and expressions of discomfort were expressed. The laughter I felt at this time was intense and deep, all encompassing. Thou shalt not understand the joy of brown sweat until it is witnessed with thine own eyes. The elation that one feels as thine eyes fall upon your mate, only to see what looks like maple syrup pouring over their forhead from under their hairline. Dripping into their eyes and running down their chin. This is one of those things that is much more fun from an outside perspective.
Things aren't always what they seem, and people aren't always who they say. I know this. But don't let these worlds entwine. If you payed close enough attention, even you might see your own dirty lie. I know I can. But worry not, it doesn't bother me. Simply knowing its existence is all the more fun.
Take a chance you stupid ho.
You are a... WITCH!!
Not really a political faction, but the second most
widely reviled class of people (after the
puritans). You can expect no quarter from
anybody, and will probably die in agony. Of
course the question we all want to know is: if
you really are so dangerous and powerful, why
don't you just use your magical powers to
escape??
What English Civil War Political Faction would I have supported?
brought to you by Quizilla
*Pulling the string again
Well of course I am. And the cow says,"Moooooooo"
Late night, as he dreams about the nude ones. Those children running around in a cave, fairy wings and black eyes. Moving like the recently animated dead. I see his tiny pig penis crawl out from the hole in his tighty whities. It emerges, erect, I can count the veins in his cock from here. Each one pulsating in unison before releasing a lightning storm of a web like sperm. It collects around the walls and ceiling all the while still attached to the penile source. Flies and moths find their death in his gooey white sex trap. With each flap and seizure, they shake the cum web about, but their struggle is in vein, they can never escape. As he tosses and turns in his sleep, the webbing wraps around him until he is fully encased in it, from head to toe. He is in the coma cocoon now. And is motionless.
Time passes and soon the sun does raise. He begins to stir in his spermy chrysalis and the man strands part as he emerges from his encasing. He has reached his final stage, and now he stands nude. But he is no longer what he was. He is now the female butterflown space child, stained glass wings, and blood tears running down her face. A soft tender body, wrapped in pale blue skin. Two antennea with glowing orbs on either end pertrude from under her long red hair. As the light pours from yonder window, it shines through her wings, painting the room like church. A warm, yet oppressive glow. She spreads her newly found wings and tilts her head back with a smile. Set free by the transformation created from chemicals normally meant for a two person reproduction job, shes managed to DIY. With a flutter and flit, she lifts from the ground and glides out of the open window. This is the birth of meloncholy, and her name be Dessica.
I recall when it got so warm, that my foreheaded friend began to sweat brown. Trails of a thick brown sludge oozed over his forhead and expressions of discomfort were expressed. The laughter I felt at this time was intense and deep, all encompassing. Thou shalt not understand the joy of brown sweat until it is witnessed with thine own eyes. The elation that one feels as thine eyes fall upon your mate, only to see what looks like maple syrup pouring over their forhead from under their hairline. Dripping into their eyes and running down their chin. This is one of those things that is much more fun from an outside perspective.
Things aren't always what they seem, and people aren't always who they say. I know this. But don't let these worlds entwine. If you payed close enough attention, even you might see your own dirty lie. I know I can. But worry not, it doesn't bother me. Simply knowing its existence is all the more fun.
Take a chance you stupid ho.
You are a... WITCH!!
Not really a political faction, but the second most
widely reviled class of people (after the
puritans). You can expect no quarter from
anybody, and will probably die in agony. Of
course the question we all want to know is: if
you really are so dangerous and powerful, why
don't you just use your magical powers to
escape??
What English Civil War Political Faction would I have supported?
brought to you by Quizilla
*Pulling the string again
Well of course I am. And the cow says,"Moooooooo"