i cum so hard while hurtling through space toward a decommissioned space station. slowly, i pull my knees to my chest and close my eyes as my bowels begin to expel hundreds upon hundreds of beautiful, symmetrical turds, brown as the day is long. i laugh like a young girl as my turds drift aimlessly behind me; they are as butterflies to a child frolicking in the fields of elysium.
i approach the station’s docking port, flaccid cock in hand, and prepare to float gently into its inviting confines. i extend my cockless arm jubilantly, as to celebrate the majesty and depth of space, and thank jesus christ for this ultimate gift and blessing. but suddenly, my outstretched arm collides with the outer rim of the docking port, and the trajectory of my quaggy body is violently halted.
the ftes afford me barely enough time to turn his head before the turds arrive. one thousand turds, each one seemingly larger than the last. i try in vain to cleanse mu eyes of the shitsting, but succeed only in smearing my own fecal matter into a fine asspaste, which slowly seeps into my eyes and nasal cavity. i inhale three hundred and twenty four Space Turds; my lungsare permeated completely with my own shit. i hang lax, spirit broken, defeated by poop. i will never be the same. i am forever a shit faggot
Piss on me. Fucking piss on me but do it in the antarctic so that the pee freezes in mid air while you are pissing off a building and the piss turns to spear’s. impale me with frozen urine and then shit on my butt corpse. Im a fat gay and I want to go to Ice Hell ftw.
Thanks for the great post. I too am interested in your research into the differences in harvested human semen from the gonads of men of differing racial backgrounds - especially due to my field observations referencing different viscosity, temperature, and density.
My main question regarding your future work is what is the feasability of procuring medical grade gorilla or chimpanzee (higher primate) cum on the market? A quick check with normal mainstream supply routes leads me to question the quality of spunk available on the market (it seems to be more geared towards the amateur semenologist). Without freshly procured ape ejaculate, I think your future experiments may not have a stable scientific baseline to draw from.
Tell the train conductor or any train personnel available that you are pretty sure there is a cobra loose somewhere in your cabin. You have no idea how the cobra got in there and you defiantly didn’t buy it a flea market and it escaped from a hole in the box it came in.
EVERY MORNING I WAKE UP AND OPEN PALM SLAM A VHS INTO THE SLOT. ITS CHRONICLES OF RIDDICK AND RIGHT THEN AND THERE I START DOING THE MOVES ALONGSIDE WITH THE MAIN CHARACTER, RIDDICK. I DO EVERY MOVE AND I DO EVERY MOVE HARD. MAKIN WHOOSHING SOUNDS WHEN I SLAM DOWN SOME NECRO BASTARDS OR EVEN WHEN I MESS UP TECHNIQUE. NOT MANY CAN SAY THEY ESCAPED THE GALAXYS MOST DANGEROUS PRISON. I CAN. I SAY IT AND I SAY IT OUTLOUD EVERYDAY TO PEOPLE IN MY COLLEGE CLASS AND ALL THEY DO IS PROVE PEOPLE IN COLLEGE CLASS CAN STILL BE IMMATURE JEKRS. AND IVE LEARNED ALL THE LINES AND IVE LEARNED HOW TO MAKE MYSELF AND MY APARTMENT LESS LONELY BY SHOUTING EM ALL. 2 HOURS INCLUDING WIND DOWN EVERY MORNIng
There was once a boat that existed on the human plan of existence but get this friends, it was actually a Demon Boat.
The year was 1673 and a merchant vessel of the Dutch East India Company was clumsily rounding the Cape of Good Hope using its hopelessly outdated 1673 seafaring navigational instruments. This proud and unwieldy cog accidentally set a course straight into the heart of the sun. They sailed all the fuck over the ocean for many months because you can’t actually sail into the sun with a boat because it is in outer space. The deck of the ship rattled constantly with the spittle and scurvy-loosened teeth of sailors swearing volubly in some pretty bad Dutch cuss words.
Eventually the ship’s captain one Jan Doouublevowel clapped eyes upon safe harbor on a mysterious tropical island. A dispatched party of crew landed on the island with the ships longboats. The landing party was quickly cut apart by machine gun fire from fortified machine gun nests. The survivors of the initial attack fled into the rain forest where they were eventuality hunted down by velociraptors.
And when this happened the Demon Boat started doing a slow golf clap until all of the sailors and crew were eaten or shot, whereupon it flipped on its shades and sailed off into the sunset.
There is a live cobra loose on the streets of Cleveland. Police are laughing, but afraid, and don’t know what to do. One policeman wants to shoot the cobra, but he is told not to by the captain. Another policeman tries to capture it in a bucket. He runs away laughing when the bucket hits the cobra and the cobra hisses and slithers up the street. The police don’t want to kill the cobra because it is beautiful and strange. They find an ad in the Yellowpages for Dan the Big Snake Man to deal with the snake. He advertises “muscles as hard as diamonds,” but insists “ladies only.” A lady police calls Dan.
Dan is an illegal gigolo and he is so afraid when he arrives and finds cop cars that he agrees to catch the snake. He forces it into a pillowcase using a shovel. He leaves in his ‘99 Chrysler LeBaron, vanity plates HOT2TRT, and take the cobra back to his apartment. He leaves it in the pillowcase in the bathtub for an hour, but his curiosity is too great, and untying the pillowcase, he is bit twice by the cobra and dies. The police never talk about it when they find his body and the cobra’s, trapped inside the bathroom, because they know what they have done.
It is 1984 at a simple medical laboratory in California. The dog is a young adult German Shephered named Star. He has been taught to sit and roll over. He is partially sedated. Vascular connections are achieved at 10:25 AM. All blood has been flushed from his body within ten minutes and replaced with a chemical formula developed in-house. Clinical death and bloodless perfusion at four degrees Celsius is declared at 10:41 AM. Star is kept in this state through cryogenic refrigeration for one hour. Blood is reintroduced and core temperature is raised. Resuscitation is successful after 68 minutes of clinical death.
Star is asked to sit and roll over. He obeys. The experiment is declared a success, brain structures storing memories can be cryogenically preserved. There is no way for Star to communicate that he can now see the spirits of the dead arrayed along an infinite plane of time and space and that our entire waking reality exists as a fragile filament trapped in the dark currents of a deep, dead ocean. So he eats Milk-Bones and licks feet for 12 years and then becomes a ghost.