See whats to come, where rests a womans bum

[Gravel PitParticipant]

the long anticipated Gusset poem (dedicated to Colin Combover in a Coma) borrowed a few words to summon the muse from Shakespeare’s Sonnet XIV

Not from zodiac stars do I predict or derive,
Such fortunes are read; shhhhh, on girl’s pantie deposits.

Prithee Lady, your cricket flesh mitt sans Palmolive
I decipher the future from phlegm left cocooned in thy gussets.

A gal-sneaker’s delight is unwrapping a floozy,
but save the peeled knickers forecasting Newton’s 3rd doozy.

And if e’er a maiden’s third eye has been muddied, so too the angels powdered her Éclair muff.
‘cause destinies of future moons are hidden in the folds of her pantaloons, amidst carnal sludge and pubic tuft.

So ne’er scowl at soiled female garments tossed carelessly behind the water closet.
Aye boy, Imprints of her round roast foretell happenings in Sussex!

[Puffin StuffParticipant 24979]

Close to the image in my mind. Behaving like their panty stains look is about as likely to lead to what a woman thinks than applying logic to their behavior.

#icethemout; Remember Thomas Ball. He died for your children.

[Gravel PitParticipant]

Dont blame me, apparently Gusset Reading is a real thing!

the ancient art of gusset reading

[HermitParticipant]

You may have actually grossed me out more than with anything Colin has written. Never did I think it possible.

The evil in women’s hearts leaves them no moral bounds as to inhibit them from descending to the lowest levels of darkness to acquire their self entitled desires.

[Colin Combover in a ComaParticipant 5066]

Gravel Pit wrote:

the long anticipated Gusset poem (dedicated to Colin Combover in a Coma) borrowed a few words to summon the muse from Shakespeare’s Sonnet XIV

Not from zodiac stars do I predict or derive,Such fortunes are read; shhhhh, on girl’s pantie deposits.
Prithee Lady, your cricket flesh mitt sans PalmoliveI decipher the future from phlegm left cocooned in thy gussets.
A gal-sneaker’s delight is unwrapping a floozy,but save the peeled knickers forecasting Newton’s 3rd doozy.
And if e’er a maiden’s third eye has been muddied, so too the angels powdered her Éclair muff.‘cause destinies of future moons are hidden in the folds of her pantaloons, amidst carnal sludge and pubic tuft.
So ne’er scowl at soiled female garments tossed carelessly behind the water closet.Aye boy, Imprints of her round roast foretell happenings in Sussex!

I’m honoured(see the U) in having a rival to my musings. A trans goon nonetheless!
We’ll make a squire and an scholar out of you yet boy.

Keep squelching in those panties matey!

[Colin Combover in a ComaParticipant 5066]

Hermit wrote:

You may have actually grossed me out more than with anything Colin has written. Never did I think it possible.

Shut that mash potato hole you rubber sausage.

[Gravel PitParticipant]

Bingo, you misfit imbred, island eunich. I accept your acknowledging my prestige. Im downwind from my time, I know, its ripe for you.

Dont worry about what Herm said, there is no way this poem about vaginal discharge trumps your library of sodomy. That garbage will be published some day

[Branched offParticipant 10926]

Gravel Pit wrote:

Bingo, you misfit imbred, island eunich. I accept your acknowledging my prestige. Im downwind from my time, I know, its ripe for you.
Dont worry about what Herm said, there is no way this poem about vaginal discharge trumps your library of sodomy. That garbage will be published some day

Gravel pit, you made me do a double take of who wrote that. The first line was very Colinesque.

A woman is like fire -fun to play with, can warm you through and cook your food, needs constant feeding, can burn you and consume all you own

[BubParticipant 1404]

This thread is nasty….

Snail trails and such…

Just rolling down the road

[Colin Combover in a ComaParticipant 5066]

Gravel Pit wrote:

Bingo, you misfit imbred, island eunich. I accept your acknowledging my prestige. Im downwind from my time, I know, its ripe for you.
Dont worry about what Herm said, there is no way this poem about vaginal discharge trumps your library of sodomy. That garbage will be published some day

Yes, a long and winding tumbleweed ridden road for you to reach the destination of debauchery that I have laid waste my young(ish) prodigue.
I don’t value anything that comes out of Worms cold sore laden orifice.

[EGParticipant 1852]

Branched off wrote:

Palette Grit wrote:

Bingo, you misfit imbred, island eunich. I accept your acknowledging my prestige. Im downwind from my time, I know, its ripe for you.Dont worry about what Herm said, there is no way this poem about vaginal discharge trumps your library of sodomy. That garbage will be published some day

Gravel pit, you made me do a double take of who wrote that. The first line was very Colinesque.

Yep.

[Gravel PitParticipant]

Here EG, here’s some other poems I wrote for Colin. LOL. We’ve been at this awhile. There is one thread link at the bottom, an old nasty one we like to dig up every now and then. Look at Colin’s profile page, click his Forums button, see all the crazy ass poems he’s ever written here! I only wrote a couple to keep him motivated.

*Oceans of carpet*
Mountain-crested drapes.
A home is a vast wilderness for a child.
Each closet is an uncharted, ominous cave. Bedroom doors, but Stargates to alien realms.

And god’s speed to the reaches of Mommy System where strange technology curls hair.
Where toxic paints and powder adorn her claws and decaying flesh. Her stink is delicious.

One’s first taste always conjures an unquenchable thirst. When he wrangles her soiled panties from the hamper.
And thus the Oedipus phallus is shrunk frightful to Mommies palpable presence, asleep she stirs and excites the boundless imaginings of a youthful cortex.

And tighty-whities are made gooey, pillow humping. Wiping sand castles from sleepy eyes.
The laundry is fresh and folded. The sun is risen, burning retinas.

Our animals are released into the cityscape.

Instructions on Necrophilia

Contrary to it being romantic, it’s better to penetrate after she has departed. If she’s rattled out during, the sudden release of urine and the immediate stench of defecation is enough to ruin the moment.

Drag the torso by the arms into the garage. Undress it, along with all other effects and stash them in a black plastic trash bag. Next you’ll need a good garden hose sprayer to get deep in those orifices. Don’t tarry long, rigor mortis sets in.

It’s skin ought to be turning that chalked purplish white about now, but suppress the urge to splurge. Scan the doll for cob webs and insects that seem to have a sixth sense about decay, then drag it into the house and flop the body over the arm of the sofa.

Don’t blue ball yourself further; just launch your pulsing phallus straight up her roast-beef salad, she’s done. Savor the delicacy, it won’t keep past 12 hours, consider a walk in freezer as a home improvement; tax deductible.

Everyday is dias dela muertos. Pull it up onto a plastic covered mattress and snuggle up. Apply some glue above the eyelids to expose an otherworldly gaze. Teethe it’s cold leather nips and pet her roadkill. If the smell is coming back, peppermint balm under the nostrils.

Don’t bother with reverence like some mortician, ravage that doll limb from limb. Enjoy the sullen wake and be mindful of sudden fluid discharges.

/forums/topic/necro-feel-her/

[Gravel PitParticipant]

For You Brad

[Gravel PitParticipant]

Who Put Colin In A Coma

PANTOMIME HORSE

Unzip Me Out Of This Meatsuit

Expel on the belly, congealed like a plate of jelly, sticky substance kind of smelly

As you can see, Sodomy and wieners cut off. The earmark of a literary savant

Chopping The Sausage

Self Loathing

Chocolate Teapot

[Colin Combover in a ComaParticipant 5066]

Gravel Pit wrote:

Here EG, here’s some other poems I wrote for Colin. LOL. We’ve been at this awhile. There is one thread link at the bottom, an old nasty one we like to dig up every now and then. Look at Colin’s profile page, click his Forums button, see all the crazy ass poems he’s ever written here! I only wrote a couple to keep him motivated.

*Oceans of carpet*Mountain-crested drapes.A home is a vast wilderness for a child.Each closet is an uncharted, ominous cave. Bedroom doors, but Stargates to alien realms.
And god’s speed to the reaches of Mommy System where strange technology curls hair.Where toxic paints and powder adorn her claws and decaying flesh. Her stink is delicious.
One’s first taste always conjures an unquenchable thirst. When he wrangles her soiled panties from the hamper.And thus the Oedipus phallus is shrunk frightful to Mommies palpable presence, asleep she stirs and excites the boundless imaginings of a youthful cortex.
And tighty-whities are made gooey, pillow humping. Wiping sand castles from sleepy eyes.The laundry is fresh and folded. The sun is risen, burning retinas.
Our animals are released into the cityscape.


Instructions on Necrophilia
Contrary to it being romantic, it’s better to penetrate after she has departed. If she’s rattled out during, the sudden release of urine and the immediate stench of defecation is enough to ruin the moment.
Drag the torso by the arms into the garage. Undress it, along with all other effects and stash them in a black plastic trash bag. Next you’ll need a good garden hose sprayer to get deep in those orifices. Don’t tarry long, rigor mortis sets in.
It’s skin ought to be turning that chalked purplish white about now, but suppress the urge to splurge. Scan the doll for cob webs and insects that seem to have a sixth sense about decay, then drag it into the house and flop the body over the arm of the sofa.
Don’t blue ball yourself further; just launch your pulsing phallus straight up her roast-beef salad, she’s done. Savor the delicacy, it won’t keep past 12 hours, consider a walk in freezer as a home improvement; tax deductible.
Everyday is dias dela muertos. Pull it up onto a plastic covered mattress and snuggle up. Apply some glue above the eyelids to expose an otherworldly gaze. Teethe it’s cold leather nips and pet her roadkill. If the smell is coming back, peppermint balm under the nostrils.
Don’t bother with reverence like some mortician, ravage that doll limb from limb. Enjoy the sullen wake and be mindful of sudden fluid discharges.

/forums/topic/necro-feel-her/

“Her stink is delicious”
Good line!

He’s got to read, “Down at the Discotheque”(about a woollyback looking to receive the “gift”).

Perhaps my personal favourite is, “I was a twit in my Fathers nutsack”

[EGParticipant 1852]

Yall are twisted lol

[iMickey503Participant 12465]

Not anyone at this site is over 13 years old.

You are all alone. If you have been falsely accused of RAPE, DV, PLEASE let all men know about the people who did this. http://register-her.net/web/guest/home

[HermitParticipant]

Colin Combover in a Coma wrote:

I don’t value anything that comes out of Worms cold sore laden orifice.

The fukk you don’t, you cokc suckin’ stupid whore. You practically worship me. Makes me somewhat uncomfortable in fact. Go take a bath, you smelly unclean freakish creep.

The evil in women’s hearts leaves them no moral bounds as to inhibit them from descending to the lowest levels of darkness to acquire their self entitled desires.

[HermitParticipant]

Colin Combover in a Coma wrote:

Hermit wrote:

You may have actually grossed me out more than with anything Colin has written. Never did I think it possible.

Shut that mash potato hole you rubber sausage.

LOL Wonderful.

The evil in women’s hearts leaves them no moral bounds as to inhibit them from descending to the lowest levels of darkness to acquire their self entitled desires.

[Gravel PitParticipant]

Colin, you indigent brown bagger. Scrap up coins lost in the sofa and go to the movie theatre.
Watch The Lighthouse, I COMMAND you!

[Author]

Posts