The Ribbich of Chong

The bomb of ascent in the scanty of boom

The gollywog of fear is upon you. The gremlins of your anus have declared war on the flanges of your bowels. The horizon has pounds of grilled cheese melting in the sun, again. Your aunty is secretive at best.
The pandemic came and went and no one died, so the press questioned whether it was a pandemic or not. Some even suggested nothing happened at all and it was made up by the governments. Only the fish are blue.
Someone once said, ‘this will only hurt once’.
Just how much pain can you inflict on a woman? Would they bleed to death if you cut their nipples off with nail clippers? What would happen to their nails if you put their hands in a blender? Could you run a tube directly from their anuses straight into the mouths of willing Japanese perverts? Could you let ants run wild over their genitals forcing them into strange carnivorous orgasms? Would they, if they knew how good you were, stop you in the supermarket, pull your cock out and masturbate you, in full view of jealous men, until you cum all over the oranges? Would she do this while having King Edwards’ stuffed up her arse, direct from the oven? Would she rather drink a cup of cold semen, collected from diseased Irishmen or a pint of vomit with chunky bits? Would she? Would she let you put the arm of your own child up her cunt? Would she mind if the child was holding a meat cleaver? Would she throw herself on the horns of a bull rather than take it up the arse? Would she let you put a vacuum cleaner up her twat to see what you could suck out? Would she shit on your face?
On alien worlds they sing songs that make no sense to us. The Bing Bong Boo is a Ping Pong Moo; the jubbly is all wobbly. Yotid is the flangewort and the grunty all futty. Tampo wampo, stimbly pimbly, the wog is glod and dimply.
Save me the trouble and burn your own eyes out with the stumps of burning Jews.
Jesus Christ is my saviour; the fact that he sucked Mohamed’s cock doesn’t bother me one bit. I mean each to their own and if JC likes the salty taste of man fat in the morning, then who am I to argue with him. You see this is a common misconception, that JC was a meek and mild chap who was friendly to goats as well as centipedes. He was a wild rent boy in his youth; he’d sell his hole to whoever wanted to shove a diseased cock in it. Then he discovered women, but couldn’t stop his compulsion to dismember them when he’d come on their faces and after that he just went around in a gang of 12 hardened gay bastards. Each of disciples had served time for destroying the anuses of young children. They all repented by shovelling sperm into JC’s ears. He was often away for weekends with other deities, such as Mo, Buddha, Ganesh and the Flying Spaghetti Monster. They took copious amounts of drugs, slept with diseased prostitutes, took loads of antibiotics and then got drunk, started fights and pissed in the street. JC even took a crap on the Mayor’s dog. When they weren’t fucking their way through sleepy seaside villages, they were inciting the locals to fight each other in their names. JC even had ‘I’m a cunt’ tattooed on his cock.
Parp! Catch that, motherfucker!
Squalid poo, squalid poo, don’t you love my squalid poo? It comes in green, it comes in red, it comes in blue does my squalid poo. It sings me songs, it smokes my bongs, it even pleasures my wife. Squalid poo, oh squalid poo, how good to know you.
Is it true that samurai swordsmen cut their penises off and have to piss throw a hole?
Anchovy wine, it tastes like brine. It’s brown like some cows and it doesn’t get you drunk.
My old man said follow the van and always steal his tyres when it stops. Lemon starch is the only place to be, baby. Let me love your lemon starch like no man has ever loved. Don’t dilly-dally on the way, cos’ you never know, do you?
I can do the Congressional Jigger of Honour for you but it might offend the blind; the last time something visual was put on they tried to strangle the neighbourhood dogs.
I will always be there for you, shovelling your mouth full of poo. I’ll show you things you never thought you could do and all of them involve squeezing out a poo. I’ll make sure that all your glue and even your stew is made from your poo. Is there a place, like the zoo, where we can stop and swap some poo? If the cows only went moo, then I’d be there smearing your legs in poo. You, me and poo, it’s the only thing to do.
What a strange world we would live in if female ejaculate was the water of immortality?

He Lies Through His Shit

The cardioid is a curve, more precisely, a epicicloide with one cusp.

I did not understand the nightmares of fish. I close the casket of tumors and 40 of your hearts, surrounded by neighborhoods with sidewalks open the chest of condoms too expensive and your small breasts.

Short thinks evil yellow beer tent at night music beautiful blue water New York toy airplane train car smells like dirty beard, glasses empty gun filled with sweet blue smoke rises full cold air phone 20 hours later 10% dark green back.

Artificial, we will become the color of mint, of dried skimmed milk. Write love songs and have them read to the blades of grass, fighting against themselves. Gerber's light eyes, dry as the deserts, such as clean energy that will erase the cards. How if you between the eyes and glasses there are endless seas that float on the cheeks. It tarnishes, just when you've lost. With his feet on the ground but your hands in your pocket. We should open the windows and smell the air, as if that clean there was taken away from children.

But if you fuck a toilet unclean
is because he has problems with himself
that is I'm sorry for him that he is not fucking with you and the toilets.
Sachets of sugar cane in my pocket, red cheeks.
At the tip to the feathers, I wish we photographed from above.

"Do not come back later"

Atomic night that has rolled up his eyelids, watching the sky bruised by the Chernobyl here, I want to express ... the milk of man fats past and future. Give birth to all my tomorrows with a bloody burst of menstrual ear wax.

Next: Fish, spoons and fur