quote:

Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On

Now that's why I come here. Thanks for restoring my faith in hands down the internet's best blogging site.

The dusty terminator rolled across the baking landscape like a vintage Rambler, rambling plants swaying in the cooling breeze solidifying the ground like so much corn muffins. A loquacious horizon spoke of the shifting colours, like marbled cheesecake fluorescence resting upon the supper chamber table, an invitation to future gorging and sucrose relief assured to fulfill, albeit temporarily, an insatiable sustenence of spermicidal proportions. My chapped lips balked at her mannerisms, a hasty beeline to her corner of the presentation, centralised bounty before her, a scarcely self-contained objection to her relative famine to be purged by the crackling influx of latex supposition misplaced in the complacency that onesuch belies any granted citizen of etiquette.

I had toiled over that cake; that is, my thoughts raced back and forth between the amorous dealings of mammal imperatives be they for fertile exercises or the likewise conceit of individual satisfaction by way of simulated friction. My loins aquiver by the delight of her ignorance, a procession of protein followed by the deceptive embrace of impending seed. Her green beans left untouched, she quickly reached for the pie-server, a spade that would offer an even greater douse of protein amidst the sticky sheen of my so-called protective filling, a contaminated slurp spilt across the textured fibre of chocolate dairy loaf. The fauna of domestic complication.

Her eyes alight with the delight of blended spices, my own secret recipe an obvious misgiving in the face of nourophilic dealings daily exercised much to the chagrin of her sweltering haunches. A moment of panic at the thought of my work gone unrecognized, I was scarcely aware of the point when I flew my entire frame out of my chair and screamed, "R-SE M-RTIN, YOU ARE EATING MY SEMEN!".

What ensued was a sunshaft of relief at the cathartic recognition of my disdain for her stolid tendencies, wrought with the quelling significance of my resonating paroxysm. A further panic enveloped my sensations, a hypocritical relation to her very enveloping of the commode only moments later. I was not thinking when I calmly placed myself back down into my chair, and served myself a small slice of the very cheesecake tainted by my genetic correspondence. The chlorine aftertaste would have been barely detectable were it not for my psychosomatic sensitivities whereupon I once more bellowed: "SOMEBODY PUT CAKE IN MY SEMEN!"

Her green beans remained abandoned, aloft, for the rest of the evening.

___________________
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

quote:

Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On The dusty terminator rolled across the baking landscape like a vintage Rambler, rambling plants swaying in the cooling breeze solidifying the ground like so much corn muffins. A loquacious horizon spoke of the shifting colours, like marbled cheesecake fluorescence resting upon the supper chamber table, an invitation to future gorging and sucrose relief assured to fulfill, albeit temporarily, an insatiable sustenence of spermicidal proportions. My chapped lips balked at her mannerisms, a hasty beeline to her corner of the presentation, centralised bounty before her, a scarcely self-contained objection to her relative famine to be purged by the crackling influx of latex supposition misplaced in the complacency that onesuch belies any granted citizen of etiquette. I had toiled over that cake; that is, my thoughts raced back and forth between the amorous dealings of mammal imperatives be they for fertile exercises or the likewise conceit of individual satisfaction by way of simulated friction. My loins aquiver by the delight of her ignorance, a procession of protein followed by the deceptive embrace of impending seed. Her green beans left untouched, she quickly reached for the pie-server, a spade that would offer an even greater douse of protein amidst the sticky sheen of my so-called protective filling, a contaminated slurp spilt across the textured fibre of chocolate dairy loaf. The fauna of domestic complication. Her eyes alight with the delight of blended spices, my own secret recipe an obvious misgiving in the face of nourophilic dealings daily exercised much to the chagrin of her sweltering haunches. A moment of panic at the thought of my work gone unrecognized, I was scarcely aware of the point when I flew my entire frame out of my chair and screamed, "R-SE M-RTIN, YOU ARE EATING MY SEMEN!". What ensued was a sunshaft of relief at the cathartic recognition of my disdain for her stolid tendencies, wrought with the quelling significance of my resonating paroxysm. A further panic enveloped my sensations, a hypocritical relation to her very enveloping of the commode only moments later. I was not thinking when I calmly placed myself back down into my chair, and served myself a small slice of the very cheesecake tainted by my genetic correspondence. The chlorine aftertaste would have been barely detectable were it not for my psychosomatic sensitivities whereupon I once more bellowed: "SOMEBODY PUT CAKE IN MY SEMEN!" Her green beans remained abandoned, aloft, for the rest of the evening.

Holy shit

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quote:

Originally posted by VoiceBox Hey I'm the new kid on the block... or should I say blog! and I wanted to see what it's all about. I've never blogged before so perhaps this new activity will be therapeutic and fun......I like to vent and bitch especially when I'm having a bad day, and I like to share my views/opinions on stuff (since usually my opinion is the correct one) ha ha So cheers everyone! VoiceBox

https://www.tumblr.com/register

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Nothing to see here

so offer an opinion, fuckhead.

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quote:

Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On The dusty terminator rolled across the baking landscape like a vintage Rambler, rambling plants swaying in the cooling breeze solidifying the ground like so much corn muffins. A loquacious horizon spoke of the shifting colours, like marbled cheesecake fluorescence resting upon the supper chamber table, an invitation to future gorging and sucrose relief assured to fulfill, albeit temporarily, an insatiable sustenence of spermicidal proportions. My chapped lips balked at her mannerisms, a hasty beeline to her corner of the presentation, centralised bounty before her, a scarcely self-contained objection to her relative famine to be purged by the crackling influx of latex supposition misplaced in the complacency that onesuch belies any granted citizen of etiquette. I had toiled over that cake; that is, my thoughts raced back and forth between the amorous dealings of mammal imperatives be they for fertile exercises or the likewise conceit of individual satisfaction by way of simulated friction. My loins aquiver by the delight of her ignorance, a procession of protein followed by the deceptive embrace of impending seed. Her green beans left untouched, she quickly reached for the pie-server, a spade that would offer an even greater douse of protein amidst the sticky sheen of my so-called protective filling, a contaminated slurp spilt across the textured fibre of chocolate dairy loaf. The fauna of domestic complication. Her eyes alight with the delight of blended spices, my own secret recipe an obvious misgiving in the face of nourophilic dealings daily exercised much to the chagrin of her sweltering haunches. A moment of panic at the thought of my work gone unrecognized, I was scarcely aware of the point when I flew my entire frame out of my chair and screamed, "R-SE M-RTIN, YOU ARE EATING MY SEMEN!". What ensued was a sunshaft of relief at the cathartic recognition of my disdain for her stolid tendencies, wrought with the quelling significance of my resonating paroxysm. A further panic enveloped my sensations, a hypocritical relation to her very enveloping of the commode only moments later. I was not thinking when I calmly placed myself back down into my chair, and served myself a small slice of the very cheesecake tainted by my genetic correspondence. The chlorine aftertaste would have been barely detectable were it not for my psychosomatic sensitivities whereupon I once more bellowed: "SOMEBODY PUT CAKE IN MY SEMEN!" Her green beans remained abandoned, aloft, for the rest of the evening.

quote:

highest bidder: Rœs-mar'tin.

fuck.

Again I found myself in the most exquisite company of one Rosey Martinez, a dual specimen of Latin passion and passion fruit flavoured generic soda. She was a bold soul, that one, for her scholastic pursuits had since culminated in a cessation of endurance since our last engagement, in lieu of the autonomy she so bravely sought, necessitating in the informal emancipation from her parents at the plucky age of two-decades and 19 months. It was far too early, some would say, for her appetite far exceeded her wage - to make use of a particularly unique parlance that means literally what I just wrote – but still she brazenly whetted her glands with the Negro spice so popular among the languorous youth of the greater Everglades region, and thus was quite remiss of such considerations.

We exchanged vaporous quaffs from a great, phallic smoking device of sorts, its lurid purple veins engraved into its shaft for a most tactile relief, before she recommended we eat post-haste, lest the incumbent “sizzurp” that lined said device overtake us with an insurmountable lethargy. I shuffled, mindfully through the laundry-littered chamber of her dingy abode of suspect accommodations, her Willendorfian form grazing the narrow and bespeckled corridor that lead to her pantry. Within, a great smorgasbord of miscellaneous fauna proceeded, resulting in a casserole that consisted of mashed potatoes covered in chips, covered in tuna, covered in Tobasco sauce. A most delectable concoction of savoury processing, to be sure, but my sensitive stomach impelled me to scoff at such a suggestion and immediately correct my ill mannerisms with a terse declination. Unquestionably, my Latin pastry engorged in her creation, wooden stirring spoon in hand, as she led me right back to the all-too familiar chamber in which our lungs had first shared of the same heady nuances.

The moments crawled as we remitted coy stares into one another's stolid expressions, occasional fits of brief snickering belying the bemused frolicking in our absent crania. When the spice ran to mere ash and the unctuous fluid within the Cockbong (as I was clued-in to refer to it as) likened the bowl, a wonderful suggestion traipsed across my mind. I extracted a small vial from within my slacks, a gelatin inside I was sure would excite her twittering sensibilities and portend digestion. I assured her it was something I had bottled in anticipation of our reunion, a truly unanticipated event, given our previous meeting resulted in such a confectionary calamity so as to warrant her from therapy and into the starchy embrace of corpulence. She loaded the slider with a spice that permeated the room, as I dabbled the vial into the newly-iced water that occupied the chamber of the Cockbong. I politely deferred to her the first hit, as a suppressed cackle welled up in me, my eyes redolent with the tearful anxiety of being ousted from surreptitiousness, my trembling fingers rose only to my chin for fear of being chewed off. She shot at me a killing glance as she brought the device to her full-cheeked face, her dense brow a furrow of confoundedness – I let out a small squeal as she flicked the flint to the bowl, a deep inhalation one can hear wheezing through her gaping snout preceded her removal of the slider, a heavy swirl of distillation coalescing as a cloudlike ether of commitment to the miniscule chamber we lounged in. A commitment to us. I nearly tripped as I bounded over her glass coffee table and out the front door, much to her utter bewilderment. Once outside, I resoundingly bellowed: “ROSEY MARTINEZ, YOU ARE SMOKING MY SEMEN!”. No cocks – bong or oblong – would later be inhaled upon that eve.

___________________
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Last edited by Halcyon+On+On on Jan-19-2012 at 01:23

im framing all of hal's posts and hanging them around my room

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www.misterfalconmusic.com

lol wtf hal

Hal has a nice diction I hear.

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quote:

Originally posted by OrangestO This isn't about physics, this is about waves.