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The Christmas spirit in a scaldapene

The Christmas atmosphere m'insinua a germ hopping of helpless anguish. All that shimmer intermittent and useless. Smell of damp earth and moss velvet, collected early in the morning, to fill the crib. And then embalmed sheep, a cave of cardboard, shepherds with bagpipes and the expression frighteningly fixed , crossed into space. Quell'arbusto lame, at best decorated, all surmounted, arousing feelings of poverty sterile.
I also had to make gifts. My father snuffed and swore, quai was a fierce-looking beast. And I knew how it was life, six years. Mooing robots and electric tracks of hatred, just like the angry face the color of pomegranate. I guessed the ideas of unintentional injuries. Over the years I understand the significance of love. Often it is not a cumshot clumsy and uncontrollable, disguised as God's will. Flow
the years, never able to shake decaying uneasiness, caused by the Christmas spirit, announced by idiotic jingle. In 1998, the day of joyous arrival, I were found in a ditch thorny. The stereo put off the old golf this, ad infinitum. I never understood how I ended up in that ravine, thorny and almost muffled by gods propitious.
Often, someone, something, a little unexpected gesture. A few years ago, my wife gave me a scaldapene. A little corrucciai me. I thought of symbolic meanings. An evil invitation to prepare for the cold lonely nights. Then put it on with joy. I mean, a red wool scaldapene, complete with a strap clasp at the base club, candy and soft white on the tip. The wool caused some itching at the glans. I have the sensitive glans and easily scappellante I. And it took off me. What brilliant mind. What a brilliant woman. That disruptive tits, with nipples that looked outside, and lascivious witch-like eyes. What purpose will it? Now that I think, I did not ever courage to give her a scaldacepezzolo. And even a scaldavulva prehensile.

South Park Party Stuff

A suit erection. Dancing to music nonexistent

watching an old decrepit, and I springs to mind Kate Moss. Under a sky of stars shrouded lascivious lick her pussy with a hungry passion. Then we have of expensive whiskey and all sorts of sophisticated drugs. It does concern settle for mediocre toxic, naturally disadvantaged. A tremendously attractive woman invites me to his house, and instead of banged on the comfortable double bed, I propose to them a delicate portrait. And I can not draw. Strait in the long coat scarred by cigarette burns, I feel a chill on meat cutter. And I think to a nudist beach, under the evil sun, which burns skin shriveled, Florida, obscenely merciless. The essays
I would call a dangerous dissociated. They are simply crazy. One of the many to be shut.
He dropped on the eve of the Immaculate Conception. Everything seems to have a link, a Christian motivation. A text message from 10 cents to say enough, with claims of meetings clarifiers. It happens a dozen times a month. And what good is a pathetic encounter? I do not like meetings clarifiers. And even the Christmas lights blinking. "But you want it to end by sms?". And then other curses angrily. "What man are you?". "You do not even the balls to see me?". And many other, less sought after. Never, I'm not a coward, I thought are switched on one. I called. And basically what changes? An SMS is still in evidence, a trace of the past. I delete them as soon as received, text messages. She wanted to leave me a voice, and I made him do.
I drank any alcohol remaining scattered in the house, I fell asleep and peaceful. A beautiful bridge solitdine exasperating. I became aware that the sun was high, and a kind of vice enveloped my body stretched out, stark naked. Peaceful and painless. It did not hurt. As a light blanket of pins, which clings to the meat. The subtle light, discrete filtering, has collected in his parable cross, a crumpled newspaper on the dresser, 'a portion of black screen, and my shiny chapel. Fucking arrogant, swollen and scappellato, vaguely tilted to the left. Excited for no reason. Symbol of a body still alive. And 'the meter to see that I'm still good, the dick. Along with a string of rough beard. And because the brain is a tinsel powerless. Even doctors and shrinks, they should study hard cock. The deck continues to provide imaginary trouble. On the ceiling, a wire hanging. Self-propelled, twisting and inqietante, indulged whirlwinds nonexistent. Waves and horrible rhythm, dance tunes silent.
I got up, I opened the window on the quiet buildings graying, I lit a cigarette and me are smoked down to the filter. Washed with scented bubble bath to sandals, I ridisteso on the unmade bed. And there I stayed a whole day. Adding to the naked with the cold that froze the skin and hilt empty. A light look at that thread, which continued to flood, obscene and tireless.

New South Park Stream

How naughty spray of piss divine

Sitting on the wall, star gazing, reflecting non-existent. Jagged and threatening clouds, shock from the icy wind. Sometimes a sgrullata of rain, splashing piss naughty divine. And I thought the man with no ass, eyes and brain of concrete made of marzipan, which determine my future. The occurrence of a pension. And I wondered if there was a logical end.
A short walk around a kiosk, a makeshift Roma camp. Eastern workers fine beer and laughed, on leave. Sbluffate of kebab, garlic, onion, open-air latrine and sulfur L & M cigarettes (leme-lemèee-lemèee, buy lemèeeee! Belo young lemèeeee you need?). A blond adorned in the awkward tronista amicidimariadefilippi, approaches me dangling, looking Gascon. Calls for a cigarette, I'll do. Another offers a bit 'camp in his jar discount. Then he pulls out a knife, I warned off from their area. So I guessed. And in some cases, you must give credit to the insights.
The train arrived. Two girls in the compartment with the bag work. Hairdressers, beauticians, orders ... who knows. The most talkative was lined with an expression haggard and distressed. Brown hair and blue eyes. He had a beautiful clear, tasteless, like a land snail with mental disorders.
The friend he was to listen silently. Every now and then intervened, shaking his head. I was intrigued. Perhaps I too was curious about. Intense throwing furtive glances. Case sunglasses worn casually at 21.52, I thought maybe a nut. Or a terrorist Rossoneri. Then I am taken from them. Remained very beautiful, a simple beauty. Alleviation of intolerance towards the light compartment, which continued to want to rape eyes burning. The hair, shiny and raven, the wild and tamed down, leaning on his shoulders. Only a woman of great character can bring that hair. Big eyes and dark, with a little shyness tortured, giving it a charm pouring out of reach. Gesticulated persuasive speeches go along with the snail petulant. And I love watching quietly. Amber skin and irregular, with many species of freckles under the skin. Pouting lips and furrowed, than to be kissed by the light of stars and whores amoreggianti.
I should ask you something, I would answer. We came out a few times. We do this, you would discover in love with my trembling NERC and generous, I would have crowned the biggest cunt lick of the globe. Then sadly lived together. He tried to make me quit drinking. The terrible image of a pulpit whitened, and then sketches of rice, and two children screaming all the mess of jam melocotogno.
I wrote an email on the portable seven-inch unbalanced, and I thought this trend horrendous.
has run up, and sixty feet of pure magic. Sensual and attractive in an unconscious way. With a sinuous movement has run perched on the tips, giving me your ass swashbuckling. He grabbed the bag from the trunk, throwing a ghignetto fatigue. Then she's gone, vanishing into a sad suburban station, leaving one last look, very mischievous.
What matters in the end. Where a bore I did not even reach the sternum? We fought for petty reasons, discovered incompatibility of character and tried furtive lovers. He asked for divorce and food for Frugoli, accusing me of being a wimp. I allowed the male to get the barrel to the university. The female would run away with a musician toxic. It has no way to know people, the illusion of love. Love is a loss. It 's all a big hoax. The real cowards are intimately straight. And she was far too low, maybe you do not even know suck with passion.
get home exhausted. She was wearing a jersey with the number 33, which covered her sweet pink panties. And he looked at me sideways. The evil eyes just popped under golden curls and capricious.
"And where have you been up to now? Why do not you ever answer the phone? ".
"A working meeting.".
"Work? Hahahahaha ...". A harsh and dreadful laughter.
"Yes, I met a woman the whole cave, I married, we had twins, and we left for insuperable differences of character.."
"You're drunk again tonight, eh? And I've been waiting like a fool at home. "
I took a shower. We had dinner. A good meal sophisticated mixed sea, washed by a red cheap. Then allowed herself to remove her panties, and we made a transgression on the kitchen table.