Angry Hillbilly God

One night I had a dream. I was walking along the beach with the Angry Hillbilly God, and across the skies flashed scenes from my life. In each scene I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand. One was mine, and one was the Angry Hillbilly God's. When the last scene of my life appeared before me, I looked back at the footprints in the sand, and, to my surprise, I noticed that many times along the path of my life there was only one set of footprints. And I noticed that it was at the lowest and saddest times in my life. I asked the Angry Hillbilly God about it: "Angry Hillbilly God, you said that once I decided to follow you, you would walk with me all the way. But I notice that during the most troublesome times in my life there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why you left my side when I needed you most." The Angry Hillbilly God said: "My precious child, I never left you during your time of trial. Where you see only one set of footprints, I was riding my four-wheeler."

Whole thread

Good job getting us started, JW.

Meat memories...

I remember the first time I fucked a pork chop. Her name was Jennifer and I made love to her until the wee hours of a chilly Sunday morning. She was bone-in, of course. I was no pervert, there was nothing immoral about our love, no matter how the patrician harpies looked down their beaks at us. Our love was pure and without a trace of gristle. I fried Jennifer in a shallow pan of olive oil and dressed her with capers and admiration. And then I ate her. And then I fucked the skillet.

Technical Virgin, The Best Kind Of Virgin

Sarah ground her crotch forcefully against Christine’s face as she sat upon it. The left side of her distended labia dangled into Christine’s throat like a monstrous uvula; the other slapped loosely against Christine’s right ear. Christine’s nose was buried in Sarah’s anus, forced deeper and deeper as Sarah leaned back to let Christine gasp for a bare half a lungful of air. Christine’s breasts lolled across her chest and into her armpit and back out again with every forceful thrust of Sarah’s hips. They had pierced Christine’s nipples with a safety pin before they began and a thin smear of blood covered them.

Sarah slipped her hand down Christine’s pale, doughy body as she rocked away, stealing toward the dark thatch of pubic hair sprouting between her legs.

As Sarah began to wind her fingers like veiny snakes though the hair toward Christine’s clitoris, Christine began to buck. She exhaled forcefully, Sarah’s labia flapping to creating a drawn out farting noise and filling her cavernous vagina with air. As Sarah swung off of Christine’s face, a protracted queef quickly filled the air with the scent of old scallops and regret.

“I’m still a virgin, Sarah,” Christine gasped. “I’m not married yet.”

“Then what are we, you know, doing here, you know?” Sarah asked.

“I just need to keep myself pure for my husband, so he can have my ladyflower on our wedding night all to himself,” Christine said in a small, meek voice. “I’ll do whatever you want to you, but I need to stay untouched. My peach is still fresh at 41 and Jesus needs me to keep it that way. Jesus knows everything about our vaginas, after all.”

Sarah slapped her sharply across her face.

Seni supino colei culum tegunt

for Pro Libertate

Catullus 16

I'll gape and gag you ass-to-mouth,
Aurelis the Cock-Gobbler and Power Bottom Furius,
Because you think that if my poetry
is soft, that means I am soft.
While it is good for the poet to be civilized
himself, the poetry can be savage.
But well-written lyrics,
if they are thought-out and sexy,
Can excite the mind of men,
And I don't mean just twinks, but even in hairy old bears,
who can't get it hard any longer.
Because you two have read my "Thousand Kisses,"
you think I'm some prissy pussy?
I'll gape and gag you ass-to-mouth.