I like cock. In fact, I like it a lot. But don't get me wrong, I'm only talking about my own cock (or dick, or penis, or trouser snake or whatever terminology you prefer. Personally, I prefer "cock" because all the hard "k" sounds shoves the word right in your face. That way you know immediately what you're dealing with. But I digress...).
I jerk it whenever I get the chance. In fact, I'm jerkin' it now, you hosers! You see, I work in the subbasement of a building, so there's very little traffic through the area. Plus, I work in my own office, sequestered away in my own little privacy. So I get to spend hours of my boss's time jerkin' it to pregnant midget porn! Whenever I'm jerkin' it on the clock, I say that I'm on the cock clock. And right now the time is 7 jerk o'cock!
P.S. Here's a website about my cock.
A "mere $20,000"?!? I could buy myself a year's supply of crack, foties and hookers with that kind of money and still have some change left over to buy some REO Speedwagon 8-tracks for my tune-box! I guess you have to be a rich cock, jizzing money all over the place before you can be an "audiophile."
Somebody add to my story, please! I've got writer's constipation like you wouldn't believe!
-peepoh
Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what lookedto be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II.Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form ofheroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Somebody add to my story, please! I've got writer's constipation like you wouldn't believe!
-peepoh
Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what lookedto be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II.Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form ofheroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Somebody add to my story, please! I've got writer's constipation like you wouldn't believe!
-peepoh
Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what lookedto be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II.Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form ofheroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Add to this story. It's fun!
Tuesday, November 6, 20001.
Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work
today,
I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what looked
to be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old
experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War
II.
Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers
were
to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form of
heroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd
all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.
Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell
not try it?
So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my
pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's
a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious
drug
straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject
60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could
remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all
the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy
electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage
1-1
of my odyssey.
Tuesday, November 6, 20001.
Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work
today,
I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what looked
to be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old
experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War
II.
Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers
were
to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form of
heroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd
all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.
Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell
not try it?
So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my
pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's
a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious
drug
straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject
60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could
remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all
the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy
electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage
1-1
of my odyssey.
Slashdot Mirror
I like cock. In fact, I like it a lot. But don't get me wrong, I'm only talking about my own cock (or dick, or penis, or trouser snake or whatever terminology you prefer. Personally, I prefer "cock" because all the hard "k" sounds shoves the word right in your face. That way you know immediately what you're dealing with. But I digress...). I jerk it whenever I get the chance. In fact, I'm jerkin' it now, you hosers! You see, I work in the subbasement of a building, so there's very little traffic through the area. Plus, I work in my own office, sequestered away in my own little privacy. So I get to spend hours of my boss's time jerkin' it to pregnant midget porn! Whenever I'm jerkin' it on the clock, I say that I'm on the cock clock. And right now the time is 7 jerk o'cock! P.S. Here's a website about my cock.
A "mere $20,000"?!? I could buy myself a year's supply of crack, foties and hookers with that kind of money and still have some change left over to buy some REO Speedwagon 8-tracks for my tune-box! I guess you have to be a rich cock, jizzing money all over the place before you can be an "audiophile."
Somebody add to my story, please! I've got writer's constipation like you wouldn't believe! -peepoh Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what lookedto be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II.Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form ofheroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Somebody add to my story, please! I've got writer's constipation like you wouldn't believe! -peepoh Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what lookedto be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II.Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form ofheroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Somebody add to my story, please! I've got writer's constipation like you wouldn't believe! -peepoh Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what lookedto be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II.Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form ofheroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies.Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Add to this story. It's fun! Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what looked to be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II. Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form of heroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies. Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.
Tuesday, November 6, 20001. Digging through some boxes in the Psychology lab where I work today, I discovered an ancient box full of syringes, heroine, and what looked to be the Rorschact Test. Then I found instructions for an old experiment that had been carried out here in the lab during World War II. Apparently the experimenters hypothesized that if American soldiers were to shell the Germans with artillery shells containing a gaseous form of heroine and then dropped Rorschacht test cards from airplanes, they'd all just fall down into heaps of twitching, high-as-a-kite junkies. Naturally, it all made little sense to me. But then hey, why the hell not try it? So after preparing a syringe with the heroine, I pulled down my pants and injected it directly into my penis. Hey, I'm no perv. There's a lot of blood vessels in there just waiting to carry the delicious drug straight to my brain. I guess I should have known better than to inject 60-year-old opioids into my privates, though, because before I could remove the needle I slumped over forward and continued to fall -- all the way INTO one of the Rorschacht Test cards. Then some oddly catchy electronic music kicked in. Where was it coming from? So began Stage 1-1 of my odyssey.