Oyeputa, wind gargle through, pronter Peter and Judas’ cock crowed thrice prithistle thrice! Me carcass sways the nasador o’ the gosling—so dulcent so swift so suckle throwt me prested-woken’d yarble. We congesterize, we attendrate. Aye, say ye, Detenance! Strem and scream and helter skelter. Aye non, me says, poot your civimaggot away to rot and pointandpoint follow.
Wont thy scuchmachine to chinwagin me, yon the babe gosling (UUUWK kweouk UUUWK kweouk?) roasts sur the cripplecrappletendercackle and we setten. What changley! What soft in my delanted orificicles! Aye, my syphilized yarblebling does get festive with the—What soft in my delanted orificicles! Such real oheeyass I feel! I feel such real oheeyass! Et aye, my sweet, such I feel oheeyass that to me feel real! The yarble biggenwidens with the What soft in my delanted orificicles! And you say, no, only sight of thy devested carcass biggenwidens my yarble!
Alas, sloot or worse, filthy barbars, cutehooren! Ye devest me and I quillenly attendrate my dulcent so seeckle gosling. What perversion! Do not ye put your touchers where your cock is, save to the odorant o’ the gosling. Aroon to everything ye ole feel the stream of the gosflesh slither between cranklycrackly separations, it chauffates and hesks, rubs its pileless cuticles inside your corporice. Excitance. O threetimes he crowed and ye cease the lubbed toucher on your yarble.
Switch to the gosling and the spuddass ‘til eve, facile facsimile dodo himily. No more ekhling—no more touchers where the gosflesh does it! Jazzled oily, calmen and prepared to the squirt.
In Other News
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