You Don't Have to Go to Church on Sunday When You've Got My Mouth
There is no god but my mouth, and GWiMMRN is His prophet. I don't demand very much from you in the way of worship. It's not such a BURDEN to guess what's in my mouth right now, is it? I mean, I'm not taking anything AWAY from you. Just guess, okay? Jesus! Stop all this fucking complaining already! Guess! GUESS! GUESS!!!
A) Passive-aggressive hostility embodied in a fat little cow with a goat fornication fixation
B) A female raccoon all fat and frisky from a cold meal of frozen vomit
C) *blorp* *hee hee* *munch munch munch*
D) Self-loathing and mental illness turned into online theater
E) The Baby Boomer Generation, the whole self-important lot of them
F) A hot fudge sundae covered in little spurts of hot yogurt and fed to an unsuspecting customer at the local DQ
G) A big, fat raccoon ccocck
A) Passive-aggressive hostility embodied in a fat little cow with a goat fornication fixation
B) A female raccoon all fat and frisky from a cold meal of frozen vomit
C) *blorp* *hee hee* *munch munch munch*
D) Self-loathing and mental illness turned into online theater
E) The Baby Boomer Generation, the whole self-important lot of them
F) A hot fudge sundae covered in little spurts of hot yogurt and fed to an unsuspecting customer at the local DQ
G) A big, fat raccoon ccocck
posted by My Mouth at 6:56 AM
5 Comments:
Wait.
Whuh.
Umm. Uh.
Right, Oh. Right. I forgot.
Are you? Ummmm.
Whuh?
I like this church. It smells good.
I don't think raccoons are capable of giggling. But then again, I didn't think they could get pregnant by having sex with them, either. So, I guess, like, anything's possible, huh?
I THOUGHT my sundae tasted sort of briny.
No.
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