I begin this
I've seen the Ogre here. I know her name. I see her with her bag. And
a little button: "party pooper" only someone had x'ed out party.
Wearing her street vagina, she followed me into the crowd. I passed a
new friend who stood complaining to the group about the scar on her
throat. She said that no one could see it and that her Mango drawer
was empty. She began tipping and kicking the doctor, as if she could
get her quarter back. The doctor stood laughing, his hands on his
hips. "Stay close to the door, don't tackle my lips", he warned.
I'm afraid to smile, I'm afraid that what's in the bag belongs to me.
Soon I'll find Jagger's comments page. I removed the vermin from my
pouch when suddenly, with great sudden, I found my old oak tongue cover
(I once had 3). Careful to avoid the small Japanese fire, I posed nude
on the table. I was hoping that she would walk into those hi voltage
wires, like the big sudsy kangaroo or the foul pork pop tart. I always
look at the nudes, but I dare not look too closely at the furniture for
fear that it could be mom or dad.
As we left the village, we were humming my favorite country and western
song, "Sending Spam to Grandma", when I noticed a women hanging her wet
clothes on low hung bacon (not to be confused with Lo Huyng Fat). "Is
that the local custom?", I asked. "Or are you just fucking insane?"
She smiled, her gums the heroic survivors, her teeth composted long
ago. Still it was enough of a smile to stir the Ogre. The Ogre spoke
and the laughing stopped. The Ogre spoke and stole the WcW red wagon,
the Ogre spoke, her words landed with a thud. To my horror, the Ogre
wasn't looking at the walking bird pouch, she was looking at me. I
could try to run through the hanging meat and wet brassieres, but that
was a pastime for the young and I was resolved to maintain my dignity.
At that moment, the villager rang a small bell, and squatted, and
pissed. 'Twas a thunderous villager pee, that blasted dust and small
rocks in to the strata. It was exactly the distraction I needed.
End Part 1
Fookleyur beating on the lock with scissors
Back to menu