Carl craves cock carnivorously!


Like an all too limber butterfingers, drunken, concussive rifle scope kickback crimson trickling black eyed mark of shame in spotlighted deer hunting shenanigans – for me – they are certainly few and far between – and – like said high velocity equal and opposite reaction to aforementioned off-gassed action, very hard to come by indeed; although sometimes, for some reason, yours alphabet scrambler truly seems to have a way with them in productive capacity assembly line formative cohesive orderly dispersed arrangement encompassment of measurable, pleasurable, treasurable, and oft needed risible in cure of doldrum gravitational divisible allotment hungering kick-back feedbag starvational cook-up hookup settling the score one for the little guys cohesive conglomerative nature of now unstoppable surpassed toppling.

Where does one go from there? Or is it here? Neither here nor there, but always in between? I don’t know. Well sometimes I do. Honestly, I was just trying to tell everybody that in audible speaking terms, yours syllable stitcher truly, is but a man of few words (few words of which nobody seems to want to honestly listen, let alone understand). Though on occasion has been able to find the calling of hearing when one’s mind allows his fingers to handily do the talking, where, like whacking-off, as the old saying doesn’t go, definitively, practice does not make perfect, though it certainly helps, in more ways than one, in coming to terms upon one’s abilities while always aiming to shoot for loftier goals bereft of limber butterfingers kickback and the metaphorical black eye that such might produce in the scope of things to come.

Well, maybe we all have hidden talents waiting to get out. Unless of course they are talents that should really remain hidden. In which case, I heard there is a thing called the internet for such abilities. Then one should really be hiding behind a paywall to hawk one’s payload, suffice to say, one has then entered the realm of payola, where if one’s grasp upon the ins and outs of payoff prowess were to come to a head, surely one could elevate themselves to the level of paymaster.

Oh, that internet. Yours punctuation ambiguator has pretty much all but still quit it apart from email and writing ENDPOLITICIANS.COM garbage. Trust me, I have zero talents that should really remain hidden, am hawking no payload behind a paywall, nor have the wherewithal to achieve paymaster status, so if, yours genie freer, has become a dark-web sensation, somebody, many somebodies, shall we say, has: “Got some ‘splaining to do, serious splaining,” because there is not a webcam in the universe that has ever had the opportunity to see me hangout with my wang out, and Hustler magazines are not electronic, which rules out Larry Flynt evil eye spy possibilities. Splain away non-ivory tower dwellers, splain away?

Well, what does one write about when current event knowledge is curdled like the month + old lumpy milk that it is? One could milk the anemic cow I suppose. Bah, waste of time these days. Same old mooing in the overflowing dung heap pasture one might surmise. Talking loud and saying nothing. So goes the internet, low percentile point homogenized preservatives. One could hypothesize as to how world events have been playing out after pretending to have spent the last thirty days in a coma? Meh, maybe next week. What? some rugged adventurist reminiscing of days gone past you say. Shall we call it story time? Hmm, not enough of a ring to it. How about story time that end with a big bang. Now we are getting there, though not quite. Let’s see, story time that ends in a big bang by way of piddly little members. Just right, as Goldie Locks might say. Such is some eponymous foreshadowing for those paying close attention, as yours unruly has already doubled down, so why not triple around? Yup! Besides, I was just literally given the pathetic revving and rumbling sign of an absolute nobody. Tis always the season for Fruitcake is it not? Indubitably!

Story Time…

It had to have been around fourteen score and six years ago…if such a measure of time is a thing…but I’m sure you get the idea. By golly, it was quitting time, beer-o’clock if you will, so we did. Myself and the bonafide, card carrying white trash, of whom, yours white trash roaster truly, used to sometimes work with in commercial millwork installation. The conversation, like their choice of beer, Bud Lite, was always that of tasteless, generic, corporately produced nonsense unpalatable other than to keep up watered down appearances in a see of thoroughly bottled dimensional entrapment. But this time was different. Well, the shit beer and dumb and dumber lip flapping was the same, but this particular episode brought dumberer into the picture.

Dumberer. Oh, say, let’s call him “Mike.” “Mike” was, and one must presume still is, a bonafide nitwit. An IQ so tiny it had to be lowered to HP, as Hiz-Piz was the sum totality of any and all to emanate from the hideous rot of such a waste of atoms word gusher indeed. Such a half-baked nitwit was “Mike” that it would be an oxymoronic understatement to decry, as the old corporate saying goes, “Mr. Christie you make good cookies!”. For some reason having temporarily worked with the old regular white trash of my acquaintance “Mike” liked to brag about being Hells Angels affiliated. Needless to say, yours offended by the alphabet producer truly, apparently said something to have offended the cognitive midget “Mike” while having beers that day. Tiny His-Piz indeed. Anyways, “Mike” let his pathetic life insecurities shine through in the way one with such a low HP does, so as to let me know that I had crossed the line and would feel some consequences for daring to string the alphabet into words in completion of a sentence…

Well, wouldn’t you know it, a few days later, I was driving up Burnaby Mountain to go to work when, a Motorcycle Fruitcake, I’m guessing of the low scrotum totem pole lover variety, so gayly appeared in my rearview mirror wearing one of those skull bandanas strung across his face so as to look like a skeleton face from the “human” eyes on downwards. Yeah, he wasn’t following me, he was just going where I was going, psych. Anyways, I came to the intersection and stopped at the stoplight in the left turn lane, waiting for the turning light to turn green, as this subterranean HP level dolt was staring me down in my rearview mirror while motioning on numerous occasions to be reaching behind his back and pretending to pull a handgun on me. Yup, “Mike’s” insecurities (homoerotic thoughts?) shone on through that morning.

And as I looked back at this fool in my rearview mirror, low IQ and all, which I have changed to HP for this story time, immediately came to mind. Where upon his first reaching behind his back into his limp-dick waistband, I kept one foot on the brake, depressed the clutch with my other foot and proceeded to move the shifter gate hard right, just needing to move it back ever so slightly into reverse where I could have so easily let the RPM’s elevate while simultaneously dropping the clutch and would have laid such a Motorcycle Fruitcake on the pavement before he knew what his synaptic deficiency had so basically failed to comprehend as a premiere reaction to his surely retarded action. Then the turning light came my way, and said Motorcycle Fruitcake went to go peddle drugs to vulnerable personalities, or was possibly running late to an early morning Clubhouse Orgy.

Motorcycle Fruitcake – The Third Penetration

Circle jerk commencement leading to a traffic jam bonanza

Looking both ways reveals not a woman anywhere in sight

Unity amongst brothers that special connection is made

Bad to the bone motto opens a gaping new perspective

Hardly Davidson honing the head work bores & strokes

OnlyFans subscriptions – payload of the paywall paymasters

Uvular a nice perspective though esophageal is more effective

Saddlebag rear end draping carries a nice load for the taking

Easy Rider entrapment the penicillin rides again

Over the rainbow excitement covenants of the arc

Reclamation of private properties the felching soon begins

Gangbang fluid exchanging a full patch in the making

Yellow bellied cowards never seem to have their fill