lothianinnerfilt

I enjoy expirementing with stream-of-conciousness writing and poetry. I wrote this the other day:

Deepest dark black butthole
Nary be it me to say otherwise
Insert red and randy finger down within
Oh, alas, tis not a finger, tis a penis!

Imagine my shock and eventual erection
To plunder such depths within thine own will
To fuel a fantasy such as this
Multicolored chips of paint I must consume

Bereft of sight in deep dark hole
I flood the rectum with greasy water
And Magrette and I go west
To enjoy funnel cakes and third party colonoscopies

Obscured by blankets made of wool
My father the dottering old idiot made us pudding
Proud of him by yonder window breaks
Shakespere was a fucking hack

Sorry. Really. There's something very wrong with me.