« on: January 13, 2005, 07:20:28 PM »
As it were, Julie Fern is nothing more than a common dog.
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into that vast mist that exist beyond confines of lsd. or, maybe just into ladies' shoes business.
Methinks a most illiterate whore never posted ere before. With but a dull persona and the most unhumorous of tongues, this fellow of disadvantage shares his hole with poles of stiffer bones.
« on: January 13, 2005, 07:09:45 PM »
this just sad.
Blame not the poor rubbish whore. Her natural gifts t'were poor with but a slovenly appearance, nay, most fortunate curse. The unpaved eunuch with a heart as black as death has but body and sole to sell.
something about puppy-dogs, man, something about puppy-dogs!
A decayed dotant and a pebble for a brain, an empty purse with but a shriveled pole, Julie Fern, son of whore, hides the hideousness that wrought her end. The shame of society, a miscreant cursed since birth, the triple turnèd whore plays hangman with his balls. And nails his most innocent, unfortunate puppy-dog.
that not rhyme, will, and you a base plagiarist, but otherwise you ok.
With a most transparent head thou livest. With but a slanderous tongue thou breaths. But with death's bone in thy mouth, the miscreant receives its head. Julie Fern, shame of LSD, whilst enduring overweening snide laughter, proves only thy lard sack of brain.
Thou art a worthless whore
Perhaps more in t'eyes of a fellow-mate
But when his seed reacheth
It's most convoluted end,
It takes the Julie Fern.
The defiler of Hymen's purest bed,
Lies Julie in the floor,
Wishing she weren't a whore.
But rather a semi-manish male.
'Tis a mannish whore that speaks to me. It speaks as if t'were motley-minded whore with a backfriend plying his trade with 'is drill. An venomous, envious emulator of excellence, exposed as an ill-favored house-ridden wrangling queen.
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