Friday, October 10, 2008

TGIF










2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Anyone who doubts that there is no procession in life more stately than that of the swaddling curtains in their descent from the dome of moanful succulence, or that of the pith of mortal plushmeat from the same felicitous folds of its protection, is then left with a classic chicken-vs-egg question, of which came first: the rise, or the fall. Students of penispomp study this conundrum continually, without concurrence as to which is cause, which is effect. The shaft, however -- mute, though hardly enigmatic -- seems to possess the key to this riddle of dilation and extraction, this great birth of the arrival of the bloom of sovereign sway, or at the very least, its stamen.

But the backpacker in morning "clic-clac" is adorably dropped of vasculated volume to invigorate the dawn, the votive vector valorous t'invade our vespered venues of convulsion.

Anonymous said...

I think we naturally wish to honor the need for accommodation in the final penis, as much as in the others. I believe that its healing properties greatly recompense any inconvenience in its hosting, and that by surpassing even its volume, its beauty is capable of leaving a lasting impression.