I kissed a girl and, I liked it: Norm
September 22nd 2008 22:42
The internet's brightest star and horse-bound show-pony, Norm, punctured right, has spelled the beans on his desire to lock laps with a wall fitting.
"She's a woman. I'm a man. The feelings are real," he said, degreasing himself up for a spirited bout of love-making with his slitted lover, devastitilatingly powerful.
It is humoured that Norm's lower lap, keeping his mouth closed, hit the floor, spitlessly clean, when he saw the female, two eyes and a mouth, there with her sister.
"Her sister's very cute, but she had that special something. I think she had something in her eye, anyway." Norm, unusually candid, told inane objects, inanimatedly.
For her part, the one I have myopics on, has cleft me in no doubt as to what she thinks about nature taking its course with a plug, male in parts, and a fixture.
"I can't read Welsh or Women," Norm, cussing the back of his hand for knowing the front all too well, told a Welsh women, his inventions pure, his desire simple.
As it stands now, both their laps, our male's and our female's, remain fixed on a mating of minds that could be the real thing, according to some dodgy wiring.
"It could be a four-letter word starting with an 'L'," Norm, never a crossword out of hand, said penciling it in before going for the ink, and taking a drink with his arse.
"She's a woman. I'm a man. The feelings are real," he said, degreasing himself up for a spirited bout of love-making with his slitted lover, devastitilatingly powerful.
It is humoured that Norm's lower lap, keeping his mouth closed, hit the floor, spitlessly clean, when he saw the female, two eyes and a mouth, there with her sister.
"Her sister's very cute, but she had that special something. I think she had something in her eye, anyway." Norm, unusually candid, told inane objects, inanimatedly.
For her part, the one I have myopics on, has cleft me in no doubt as to what she thinks about nature taking its course with a plug, male in parts, and a fixture.
"I can't read Welsh or Women," Norm, cussing the back of his hand for knowing the front all too well, told a Welsh women, his inventions pure, his desire simple.
As it stands now, both their laps, our male's and our female's, remain fixed on a mating of minds that could be the real thing, according to some dodgy wiring.
"It could be a four-letter word starting with an 'L'," Norm, never a crossword out of hand, said penciling it in before going for the ink, and taking a drink with his arse.
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