Scrambled egg on toast, and a dash of Worcester sauce.
Blue sky’d an clear; it’s only Springtime.
The way she licks the cream from her fingertips.
Comical and chest a-puff, the male pigeon struts his stuff. I love watching that horny little guy, even though he's getting nowhere. I can relate.
Scripting by musket and sextant; get into the movie life.
Initials and an arrow-pierced heart scratched into oak
A gallon of wine.
Exchanging glances, stolen kisses.
A //H3roes marathon.
Pillow fights.
The sun and the moon in the morning sky.
Walking on an empty beach, the stretch of the soft, flat sand, picking up strange shells and stones as we go, the bracing wind whipping up off the Atlantic, blowing sand onto our shared bag of chips.
A //H0t /F/uzz Sunday matinee and a pub lunch amongst friends.
Hey you! Yes you. You've stumbled upon this mess due to some stroke of circumstance. I'll just get straight to the matter at hand. This blog was created for me to just express some of my sexual promiscuity and so forth.
Be warned though - it's mostly filth. And Lies. And filthy lies. And... well, you get the picture.