"Ladies like a V-8 motor"
Hey boys, if you have a 409--call me;
Still, a small block Ford 302 does tickle me till I pee.
Yup, the Boss 302 out accelerates the Boss 429,
Which is made for ultra high speed cruising--so divine,
And I don't mind a turbo-charged V-6;
Plus, I'll even date a super-charged 4 cylinder, with a stick in the mix.
Look, women date guys cause they got muscle cars;
Today, having a hot rod gets you in the lasso of Deputy Dawg--behind bars.
"Jazzmin Flush (78)"
Donald Flush, like a tired and worn out coyote, tail between his skinny legs, returned--completely broke. Rascal didn't mind a bit, happy the old man was in dire straights financially--better chance of him not leaving her. Like when a groovy guy wants his hefty girl to remain large and in charge, cause if she morphs skinnywards and goes symmetrically fine; next--she's gone, out the door, later dude.
Always marry an unattractive woman the B-Movie comedy brags boldly and with uncouth intent, for if you marry the yummy, boobalicious lass--she might leave you. But if the corpulent girth of an unattractive girl leaves you--who gives a damn. I didn't make up all this uncool knowledge--so don't blame me!!!
Anyso, wily Rascal was enthusiastically elated, wrapping her un-coydogged, fleshy arms around Donald Flush, hungrily embracing the new Daddy; then, placing the coydog pups in his shivering arms--him getting licked and loved by his precious children; plus, an ulcer.
"Razorback fan; plus, vampire lady"
I am animalistic in my adoration of the classically beastly,
But I meticulously clean my lady cavity to not become yeasty;
Indeed, I gravitate towards werewolf guys,
Not minding hairy pits--as long as their hearts are nice.
And I call the Hogs when autumn arrives,
Protecting my turf with switchblade knives.
Yup,
I'm boobalicious, overflowing a teacup.
"Jazzmin Flush (77)"
Jazzmin Flush regally retreated from the birthing scenario of Rascal's wonder womb, leaving Thomas elated with the pretentious pups barking their pride to life.
Jazzmin strolled urbanways, into the domain of many a hobo, regally reminded of her once underground poetry pamphlets that spread the bizarre ode of income equality, offering a chance to lend the homeless vagrants hope in respected earnings for their humble labors of being trash men, android constructors, hookers, and all that non-linear jazz. But what haunted the California girl and her mane of glistening gold was simply: SEX. Why?
And Thomas did look handsome all wolfed out in platinum-white fur and fangs that sparkled along with electric-blue eyes, ears a little shorter than a garden-variety wolf, and a tail straight with spiritual even flow. She knew she could trust him, yet owed it to her aborted daughter to never attempt hatching a life-force within her surgically-touched womb--a surgery that resulted in the death of a human being. Yes, Jazzmin's loins lusted love towards Thomas. And Thomas was a skinny, solid, good-looking guy with his shaggy brown mess of hair, but how would she explain to the Good God her resistance to all the songs and psalms of inviolate purity?
"Jazzmin Flush (76)"
"Pseudo-Tramp!!! Did you hear that Jazzmin? Pseudo-Tramp!!! I read a book by the scandalous, weirdo poet by that infectious name, and it sings and sounds nothing like you." Thomas telepathically hitting her innermost tension amid the birthing scene, where (talking brain) the best climax erupts with wonder, fatally--fatalists striking cerebral blows beyond the cranium; nevertheless--never abuse telepathy in a sinister sense lest your victim becomes so paralyzed that they then absorb your intangible movement of consciousness; plus, spirits, angels, demons, whatever may take pity on a semi-innocent soul shut down by the influence of adders, granting those cursed souls redemption. "Are you getting this too Jazzmin? Do you understand--we are totally intimate though no fluidic exchange. You are not the Pseudo-Tramp. You were forged by Spirit, and recline in absurdity, as if to outdo the Saints, and you do it, sometimes, very well. So, of Heaven--give 'em stupefied hell. I'm so sorry for blasphemy, but what am I but a boy in love with something too pure to touch?"
"Greasing your goose"
Mine is a Southern, passionate, hot, and very seductive diatribe,
Igniting sparks of chemistry with forceful whispers--making men thrive
If they lay back and relax their varying shape--
I wonderfully wish to please, never torridly scrape;
Thus, grease your goose and release your junior moose loose;
Otherwise, giving away to a celibate noose,
Which is fine
Unless alone do you wish to dine.
Us lonely, middle-aged ladies--
Hungry since husbands went to younger girls and spawned demon-headed babies.
"Diary entries of a vampire girlfriend"
Where there is smoke--there's not always fire--might be vapor.
I can't go to the beach and soak up the Sun.
My werewolf boyfriend never uses silverware, if any at all.
My werewolf boyfriend doesn't know to be gentle--too much porn.
My werewolf boyfriend urinates and defecates in public parks.
