295+

[Smokeyg]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'

You my friend...........NEED HELP!

I almost wish I hadn't read that.... almost. It'll take me the rest of the day to sort out the emotions. Somebody send Smokey a hamburger or oyster or something to write about. Anything to keep him away from Greg's couch.

This may be one of the finest examples of writing ever displayed on this site.

I'm not sure that it needs to be displayed in "Words of Wisdom" but at least needs to be posted in the classic quitter comedy thread for safekeeping and longevity.

Ahhh, I forgot I owed you oyster erotica. They kind of look like vaginas.

It's been 3 days since this was posted by Mr. SmokeyG. Three magical, wonderful, and exhausting days. It seems that I can only read a few lines at a time before I frantically and tantrically must pleasure myself. In three days, I have developed carpel tunnel syndrome, penal arthritis, rectal friction burns, and anal leakage. Thank you for your beautiful words, SmokeyG. :wub:

Fag.

[greg40]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'

You my friend...........NEED HELP!

I almost wish I hadn't read that.... almost. It'll take me the rest of the day to sort out the emotions. Somebody send Smokey a hamburger or oyster or something to write about. Anything to keep him away from Greg's couch.

This may be one of the finest examples of writing ever displayed on this site.

I'm not sure that it needs to be displayed in "Words of Wisdom" but at least needs to be posted in the classic quitter comedy thread for safekeeping and longevity.

Ahhh, I forgot I owed you oyster erotica. They kind of look like vaginas.

It's been 3 days since this was posted by Mr. SmokeyG. Three magical, wonderful, and exhausting days. It seems that I can only read a few lines at a time before I frantically and tantrically must pleasure myself. In three days, I have developed carpel tunnel syndrome, penal arthritis, rectal friction burns, and anal leakage. Thank you for your beautiful words, SmokeyG. :wub:

[syndrome]

im gonna pairafrase that taggert guy and say 'gol darn it smoky uses his tunge prittyer then a twenty doller hore.'

[Smokeyg]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'

You my friend...........NEED HELP!

I almost wish I hadn't read that.... almost. It'll take me the rest of the day to sort out the emotions. Somebody send Smokey a hamburger or oyster or something to write about. Anything to keep him away from Greg's couch.

This may be one of the finest examples of writing ever displayed on this site.

I'm not sure that it needs to be displayed in "Words of Wisdom" but at least needs to be posted in the classic quitter comedy thread for safekeeping and longevity.

Ahhh, I forgot I owed you oyster erotica. They kind of look like vaginas.

[ryan]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'

You my friend...........NEED HELP!

I almost wish I hadn't read that.... almost. It'll take me the rest of the day to sort out the emotions. Somebody send Smokey a hamburger or oyster or something to write about. Anything to keep him away from Greg's couch.

This may be one of the finest examples of writing ever displayed on this site.

I'm not sure that it needs to be displayed in "Words of Wisdom" but at least needs to be posted in the classic quitter comedy thread for safekeeping and longevity.

[Radman]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'

You my friend...........NEED HELP!

I almost wish I hadn't read that.... almost. It'll take me the rest of the day to sort out the emotions. Somebody send Smokey a hamburger or oyster or something to write about. Anything to keep him away from Greg's couch.

[RAZD611]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup' 'crackup'

You my friend...........NEED HELP!

[SamCat!!!]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

Omg Smokey...I feel more closer to you than ever!!! I have distinct visuals now of your penis. I'm not sure if you now have me aroused or what but I do know that I need a shower!!! :wub: HeHe!!! This is Classic!!! Huge Congrats to G40!!! Thats 1 party I will not miss!!!

[Smokeyg]

Greg40 has earned his comma.

And my body is responding.

My penis throbs. The memories of those lost in wars past, school shootings, political terrorism: they all live on in my unrelenting erection. Every middle school flag flown at half-mast is done justice as the juices rush through my yearning member. Twitching in the evening wind. Reaching ever upward. Thick with veins running blue as the Montana skies. It calls out to people like a restored church steeple on Sunday morning. They come from miles around. Each pulse ringing the truth of God's work. And the Word is good. The Word is Greg. A meaningful droplet of seminal fluid moistens the head.

My scrotum hangs. The skin, freshly sheen like a sheep in summer's heat, droops smooth and mature. Childlike with the hard earned wisdom brought only by age. As I walk up his driveway, my sack keeps the rhythm. Each step celebrated by the sound of scotch tape carefully removed from a birthday present - a thoughtful child hoping to reuse the wrapping as wallpaper on her new doll house. The shiny ballbag sticks to my leg. But only for the slightest moment. It swings like a rusty pendeulum on a grandfather clock much needing service. My tween carriage glistens with sweat while my leg remains dry - insulated by a thick nest of transitional body hair. A boy in a man's world.

My balls are stretched taught. Enjoying the cool nighttime air. Full of my seed. Destined to be sown on a barren landscape. Beautiful destitude. I've been saving for this. The world is asleep. Greg's living room window pane is a harsh environment. My massive ejaculate globs in lifeless streaks, save the solitary rope stretching its way to the flowerbed below - ready to return home bringing life to the soil. God's circle. Greg's doormat, rough and used, proves equally unforgiving. My semen pools thick like bacon drippings. Ready to soften with the rising sun. Greg's couch, the scent of his manhood alive in the cushions, proves a willing partner. Dancing fast. The third number ends before the dance is over. Thick ropes, their existence summoned from depths unknown, sink, lost between the cushions. A happy surprise - more than spare change down the road. A clock slowly ticks in a nearby room. This is the moment. He now slumbers below me. The satin sheets steadily rising and falling with each breath. Instinctively, my breath syncs with his. I climb in. Spent but ready. Spoons. His eyes are closed but his heart is open.

[Smokeyg]

If the world ended tonight, my quit would not have been in vain. A life lived versus A life wasted.

[BeerBottleSpittoon]

Honey Badgered

Shit, I just woke my daughter up...

Speaking of daughters, I took a dump today. 3 minutes tops. She thought this would be the opportune time to begin crawling. I had left my Polska tea cup with an Earl Grey tea bag and about an inch of lukewarm water on the coffee table about 20 feet from where I left her. I washed my hands and walked into the room; she was standing at the table with brown shit all over her face, shirt and hands. The carpet was covered with tea splatter, ripped tea bag and soggy tea shit.

All I could think was "thank tooL I quit chewing."

soon, everything in the house will be sticky.

I suggest putting plastic under the carseats as well. Otherwise they will be become plastic themselves.

[PbKid]

Honey Badgered

Shit, I just woke my daughter up...

Speaking of daughters, I took a dump today. 3 minutes tops. She thought this would be the opportune time to begin crawling. I had left my Polska tea cup with an Earl Grey tea bag and about an inch of lukewarm water on the coffee table about 20 feet from where I left her. I washed my hands and walked into the room; she was standing at the table with brown shit all over her face, shirt and hands. The carpet was covered with tea splatter, ripped tea bag and soggy tea shit.

All I could think was "thank tooL I quit chewing."

soon, everything in the house will be sticky.

[Smokeyg]

Honey Badgered

Shit, I just woke my daughter up...

Speaking of daughters, I took a dump today. 3 minutes tops. She thought this would be the opportune time to begin crawling. I had left my Polska tea cup with an Earl Grey tea bag and about an inch of lukewarm water on the coffee table about 20 feet from where I left her. I washed my hands and walked into the room; she was standing at the table with brown shit all over her face, shirt and hands. The carpet was covered with tea splatter, ripped tea bag and soggy tea shit.

All I could think was "thank tooL I quit chewing."

[PbKid]

Honey Badgered

[Smokeyg]

I think my dog is homosexual. I'm OK with it.

Only cause you are OK being a power bottom. Fag.

PS. Bestiality is against the law.

Not in Washington.