Adult sex fantasy 21+. No reality. All the names of localities and persons are false

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Jackob Part 1

Subsection: B C D E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

06.06.01 Text subsection A-C

Call me Jackob. The true Jackob! The one with the dreams! The one who fell off the chicken ladder! I feel the pain, here am I; I am a loner, an eremite, and a quite special kind of holly man. I have much time, good food, and much quiet, and dimmed light.
Therefore, I am sensitive against loud noises, glaring light, strange people, strange surroundings, and hectic rush. I am sentimental, extremely sensitive, intelligent and I like ffff (comfort, fucking, philosophy and food.) I receive thoughts out of worlds unknown to me, emerging from brains I don't know exactly to whom they belong to. I am short-sighted, have a very good nose and a good ear. My taste is highly developed and delicate. I love palatable meal and the pleasant smell of women. I can even smell if they are ready for mating. I am used to be well cared-for from front to end. The meal is brought to the room, the shit is taken away, even the arse is gently cleaned for me, and they are sweeping the room and making my bed.

B) Well, I was on the trip, it was night, and the Prussians just did not come. I hid away at the place and kipped there. And then came this with the chicken ladder. I masturbated while asleep, without ejaculating, only stimulation, it is necessary, otherwise you won't get that quality, no swine will get it without training, so good and that much and the quality. Because I do this much, I know it in the sleep. To his gives the lord... But don't ejaculate; this would be counter-productive. The chicken, this one with the white bird's feathers, called Leghorn chicken, the white ones, those who are making so many white eggs. And, they are working for the boss in the hen batteries without pay, without rooster and not living. Those, who no another rooster beside himself will be allowed; those, who are slaving away for rooster's thank in the chicken convent having no rooster, as nameless under legions of nameless, subjected the destruction by work, all for that gentleman.

C) I am Jackob, that gentleman has called me by that name. I am his. I am somebody personally. That Lord was in his boundless goodness and foresight building for me an own domicile. He lets nothing to be missing me, not servants, slaves, maids, warmth, care and good food, as long as, the quantity and the quality of my sperm find the liking of that Lord. On the chicken ladder were those with the white wings climbing up. Flying the fattening chickens would have never made this. Was damned high up. Anyway, the chickens were missing the flight training. How do I always say, exercise, practise, and practise. The strength of my nuts has pleased the Lord. He has my sperm checked under the microscope, has it genetically analysed, and he blessed it as good. And your seed shall be sent, towards evening, tomorrow, midnight, and noon, with the black minivans to all insemination technicians on the earth and your descendants shall become delicious legions of pigs. I saw the ladder. This was the entrance to heaven.

Subsection: A B C E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

06.06.01 Text subsection D-F

So, the chickens went high up the ladder. Above, they were latching themselves with their feet into a conveyor belt. Uii! It then started; however, the way to the heaven is long. The conveyor belt led over a balustrade to below, the hold under the feet was lost. The Lord saved all of them at their feet and he counted them, so that he was missing no one. Head below, fast like in the dive on its switchback way the conveyor moved to its deepest point. There was a pond underneath their heads, filled with brine and charged with the electrical force of the Lord. Chicken Corrina retracted the head. But nothing helped, the top of her comb touched the surface of the waters soon, the electrical force of the Lord shot up through Corrina from the hooks on her feet to the comb. Her hanging body was stretched and the head right deeply dipped into the power charged water. The water felt like fire. Corrina had no control over her body any more. She was pulled by the conveyor belt through the burning water to the sluice. Chicken Corrina's beautiful little head was caught by two rubber rollers, pushed through between and her throat pressed on to the disc knife of the throat slicer

E) It then went up again. Corrina wanted to cackle, but could not, her windpipe had been torn in half, she hung dumbly so and bled out slowly.
Corrina had herself made up, showing her from her best side, and did do everything, to get the job at Max Chickenhawk's. She had looked forward to her first job expecting so much. Corrina had never thought, that it would get so stressful, and what it was, what they happily really meant at Max Chickenhawk's, with: "We need you and your full commitment." Chicken Corrina clearly understood, the way to the heaven of the Max Chickenhawk leads to your local employment office.
The transport was now going trough the blanching pool devilishly hot, even the quills broke loose from the chicken skin in there. Enter into the pluck box. Elastics whipped off Corrina's hanging body in the run through and all feathers broke off from her and even the soft down of her more tender parts. Corrina was ready for full body action now.
Nakedly bloodless headfirst on the hook she was fulfilling a super sexual action show of her short chicken life. Looking extremely sexy, being cold Corrina, stark naked, in the dive through the night. Hanging, with widely spread legs, she rushes into the serrated knife, rotating contrary to her course. And she thumped with the end of its chicken belly exactly on the serrated blade. A true precision landing! The blade tore that special opening into the chicken bottom, by which Corrina will be receiving the stuffing later. The thought made the virgin Corrina terribly and deeply embarrassed.
A grab took hold of her at the neck: change of conveyor belt, feet cutter, beheader, gullet ripper, combined neck top inverter and deboweling stamp from above, from below vacuum eviscerator. The best hen cannot resist this, from above pressure; suck of below and Corrina gave everything, which was there inside her. This slid and plopped. Transparent wrapping grade "A" seal, Max Chickenhawk's best.
She really did look good, our Corrina, who could have thought this of the stupid chicken, that of all chicken she would become such a terrific good roast chicken, Grade A, Max Chickenhawk. All respect Corrina. Do not rest too long in the freezer, chicken Corrina my beloved little angel. Corrina was a nice girl.

F) I knew the way to heaven now, too. At all events the one for those, who were not chosen, like me. I as a selected by the Lord of the sperm judged for good and chosen one, on the other hand, I was called with my name Jackob. I lived heavenly and content.
My seminal vesicles were brimful. My darling already came there, too, Pia. She was young, smelled well, smelled actually always willingly to mate. However, she was never mated, I would have smelled this, my good nose tells me everything of women.
Pia picked me up; she escorted me to the sperm collecting room. I went slowly along with her, enjoying her proximity, we went to the phantom pig, an upholstered rack, as a take stand for my front extremities. So I climbed led by Pia on to the phantom. Pia sat down next to me behind, armed herself with rubber gloves, and started to manipulate my member. She shoved a bottle provided with a foam rubber seal over my penis, went on manipulating, and won my sperm, that I had produced in my nightly dreams and had kept up for her. We both had made it very well again. I got my caresses, and Pia brought me back to my room. I did only make a little break, and dreamt of Pia.

Subsection: A B C D E F H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

06.06.01 Text subsection G-I

I was a wild boar, a God of the woods, dark fur, gigantic tusks in the face, terrific nose. By the evening I quietly snooped around in search of pleasant smells in the summer warmth of the deciduous wood. The smell, lighten mustiness truffle!!!
Easy and comfortable grunting contentedly my tusks dug after the lumps. Life was wonderful. The night broke in, the moon rose; I had my meeting at the edge of the forest with Pia. I protected myself from the blue moonlight in the shade of an elder-bush. I saw her coming there, her slim naked shape stepped pale-greenish blue-grey into the moonlight behind the shadow of the barn.
She couldn't see me. She knew where I was. She entered the edge of the forest and remained upright in the shade and standing quietly exactly in front of me. The nostrils of my snout opened wide. I was aware of her with the sense of smell, better and very plastic, more coloured, giving nuances no human eye could have known. We had already met for years in all slightly warm summer full moon nights. Each of us knew without arrangement, that the time had come for the meeting again. We stood opposite ourselves immovably. Her sex, two inches from my pig's nose disc. An owl then howled.
I passed by her on the left, behind around her, sniffed at the immovable one from behind, nudged tenderly with the tusk point sensitively into her buttocks. I came to stand on the right besides her and waited. Movement came into her. She climbed on my back astride, pushed her little young innocent bottom on my old bristly back. We as a sensory interface of beast woman, Satyr witch, and black white, Night and day.
I marched on, without seeing, I had a scent image of the wood in my memory and my golden nose, and it conducted me through the darkness. My tusks shone white in the moonlight. My scent marks finder led us into the woods along the game paths. I took the beautiful one to her midnight cold bath in the pitch-dark small forest pond. She cooled the heat of the day with the cold boggy pitch-black water. I was waiting rigidly on the bank, lost in thoughts, till I felt her cold hands on my face. I woke up slowly, while she was putting her icy-cold naked little bottom on my back. I shuddered, the morning dawned, and we began the way back to the edge of the forest. There, she did crawl my ears, left of the back and ran via the fields to the barn. I retired for sleeping back into the woods.

H) Lunchtime: Martha brought the food, a shot of sugarcane rum, gene maize, potatoes, peas, beets, sugar beet chips and from cattle and pigs animal meal, roasted pig skin and vitamins, minerals, trace elements, antibiotics. Marta was an old woman, also nice and lovely, but without a transcendental relation to me, as in the case of Pia and me. The meal was good and gave strength; you can have this of me in writing.
I have never mounted a real sow; I am still a virgin boar, without sin, just a sacred Jackob. In my youth I was watching how sows had their appearance on the slaughtering block, having extremely many audiences.

I know the fate of the females and the castrated pigs, if the scale hits out far enough. To whom the scale hits. Great appearance, Butcher in the leather apron, Audience, inclusive of ladies, dog and cat and youth: everyone watches the activities, how the sow has her last appearance country style.
I am still wondering, why Martha didn't have her appearance yet. As a sow she would already have been processed for a long time, strange, the butcher has forgotten the old one happily or the scales were broken. I watched the audience. A little blurred, the myopia. My nose located to interesting people. There was a young man on the end of the puberty, short soccer shorts, slit at the side for an ease of intervention. Hard masturbating while the sow at this had to die. Oh! The young man was slaughtering-randy. He was a slaughtering-randy baby boar. I smelled attention, the randy eyes of the old butcher rested pleasingly in the crotch of the young masturbator. This one is yes slaughtering-randy. One should castrate him and fattening and then making hams. He is a pretty young boar.

I) Randy thing, that slaughtering, I too would like to be the sow, good butcher, I should be pleased, to be made by him.
I had already with nine years the desire to make like the smallholder's boar a randy visit at the village butcher's. Since then I envy the boar, that got really classically sleek my greatest wish granted before his jump into the sausage skin. Why the boar and I a perverted pig could not go to the butcher. Today, I am still very disappointed; the castration pliers had an unbelievably randy mouth sparkling and shiny. With nine, when it really would have been the best time to suit me, I didn't find any suitable butcher. Then, in the courtyard watching the paid butcher man, I already knew well, that is it, my goal, exactly the fate, as the wether or the boar, to end, stark-nakedly upon a chopping board. I simply found it too exciting, when the big axe chopped into the anal cleft of the animal for slaughter and the arse was parted in halves.
The thought that the butcher, exactly as in the case of the boar, will cut my navel out, pinched me. That he will cut my dick out and pull my filled bladder out from the belly, using the member as a handle, showing all to the spectators and squeezes then the contents out by hand. He then blows it up and hangs it up at the barn wall that will make me hot.
The elegance and skill, the master worked with, brought him praise and approval of the spectators and my absolute admiration of his skill. I accepted. I clearly wanted to be completed in my bestial existence by the butcher's skilful trade. Under the randy and amused looks of expert spectators really sleek really be ended delightfully eviscerated skilfully taken to pieces according to butcher's trade, and all to my higher special pleasure. With 15 the strong sex awareness then influenced the desires. As a male I could eagerly look forward to the pleasure of the before slaughtering necessary castration.

Subsection: A B C D E F G H I K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

06.06.01 Text subsection J-M

My desire to be mercilessly castrated and as of then into the frying pan grew.
The wishful thinking that my bad favourite uncle would come with the knife case on a visit only because of me one weekend. And he would give me a couple of firm smacks on my naked buttocks, with his paws protected with wire gloves, to calm me down. As a start signal for my own killing I would give my best and last pig grunting of me.
This became my quick jerk off dream, that brought me with cock, balls and teat torturing every time up to the desired the randy success.
With me there is everything trained well. The castration is necessary and overdue; I would like being slaughtered, why does no one understand me? Anyway, in the country is slaughtering quite natural. The farmer's wife absolutely naturally ordered the outdoor butcher and everyone was happy and finding it terrific, to see the sow, Berta, being changed to a better taste.
Only grandma, she understood, that I found it good to be a pig and being slaughtered randy and exciting. She would have enjoyed having me as her fattening piglet. And she would me also quite naturally have castrated as usual. What should be cruel in it, I don't understand.
Grandma did do the testicles of the piglets always very lovingly and cut them neatly off. She was always fully committed to the task. I am sure, if grandpa still were alive, she would then one night have me moonshine slaughtered by him in the cellar, simply giving me and her some pleasure.

K) The butcher will call me sometime anyway, he needs my back end hams as rotating spit roasts for a fine perverted hunting party urgently, they had ordered a barbecued a longpig. Would simply be exciting, because then it would be my turn, I have really not at all grasped the fact yet, and that it could work.

I still was in the puberty, and using the strength of my thinking for stimulating myself by imagination very well.
It was already cool at that autumn evening. I wore at home only a very tight soccer shorts; I had slit the legs more highly on the sides. I wanted to show around more leg, more of my randy young juice arse, and easy access to my little prick and small nuts for handling reasons. Mother didn't like to see it, if I roaming around so sexy. However, I didn't care. Our relationship was critically strained. She never didn't want the roast in her oven and didn't make any secret from this; she would have liked to have me aborted.
Had she has known at that time: it becomes a boy, she then would have, although it was forbidden then, dismember me and having me scratched from her cunt into the loo. My father was suppressed sexually by mother and extremely loveless kept, no sex for the poor fellow.
Good for me, he permitted that I roamed about so sexy, often gave me a firm smack on the bottom; he didn't find it down turning at all. I was well known in the place anyway well as a bad perverted boy.
Many adults swore at me, if they saw me in the public:
"I can tell you this, if I could catch you, I have heard very bad things of you, I would re-educate you".
And similar adult big talk of that kind. I met the same man alone, then, the same man of honour and husband and family man with children, he did ask me if I could please help him to let down the pressure and work off the stress.
I know double moral standards well enough.

L) That I could live so freely sinfully, I owed that to the gossip of my father's, and this came so:
I had ink on my fountain pen and the old slut went to shop. So I got rid fast of my shorts and went nakedly into the parents' bedroom, where a big mirror was. I started in front of the mirror, with a heavy leather belt, that I had for me taken from Father's wardrobe, with rising growing desire, to treat me randy sow by a very good selfthrashing.
It was astonishing, what I could take. The leather banged on the naked skin of the buttocks, it was a randy joy.
I noticed in the mirror there, that the old man lay in bed, watching woken up of banging me, wow!

This one wasn't silly, made use of the situation and his sex urge build-up found relive. Actually, I did win more liberty through this, as long as he got, what he wanted, I could do what I wanted.
Almost every daughter goes through this, so why not a son for a change? The best favour to me, he did with that, he told his mates at the pub, that I'd be very bad and that he had caught me at home whipping myself in front of the mirror. All the randy province goats lost their mental blockades through this.

M) I became so the decompression valve of all perverted small-town male dwellers, where the sperm pressure caused them sadistic desires or such, who only in an apparently dominant position could still get a hard on.
These would have never dared to ask a in their eyes very bad boy, a favour, if they were not sure he was bad enough.

Subsection: A B C D E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

02.06.01 Text subsection N-Q

The bucks weren't gay; they had merely incompetent completely clumsy sexless women at home.
I had at all events my good reputation this one now; I was for all simply absolutely the ass.

O) They just knew hardly anything sexually good.
So much for the past, and now back to that cool autumn evening, the historically meaningful one.
It was shortly before closing time, I ran, almost naked as usual, from home, to fetch quickly three couples Viennese sausages at the butcher's. About 500 metres to run, and there I was.
The door was still open, but nobody was then in the shop.
I therefore waited till somebody would serve me at the bar, the shop doorbell had dideldudeled.

P) I heard a forceful woman's voice from the butcher's shop behind there:
"I need really good products this time, the last one was too lean and didn't even have a right bottom yet. My banquet sirs pay a lot of money and are having corresponding wishes. Lean yes, but with bottoms, not an undernourished miserable hungry cheap rent boy. The sirs want to have fun randily; pitiful creatures break the atmosphere. These want to enjoy sexual pleasure with a randy castrated boy, in all variants, some are brutal, and so, no crybabies also because of this, otherwise they would do it with women. They can use castrated boys and claim, that they aren't in the least gay. The sirs like it so a lot, as the piggy of the day is in the evening slaughtered and prepared exquisitely, and they then consume the evidence of their perversity with pleasure as a gala dinner".
I recognized the voice of Meike, a rich woman farmer managing a lonely great woodland farm and gourmet restaurant not far outside from town on a hill.
The business ran well, they often had very distinguished and exclusive hunting parties as guests. Something ran there, but the city police wanted to see nothing, because local politician and bosses where there very often, Meike moreover paid extreme attention to staff, employing only long-standing familiar personnel.

Q) Through this the lid remained on the pot. The butcher answered:
"It is difficult, you hardly can't let disappear a proper young men. And the proper aren't bad enough for serving to the abnormal sex perversions of your sirs up to their full satisfaction. The piglets are castrated and branded on the day "X" already for four weeks; after two weeks their tail stands no longer correctly after a good week permanent stands up after the scrotum cuts off and nuts ripping. I don't much enjoy it either, then to prepare such a poor sausage for the dinner. I would much rather slaughter a randy perverted bait".
Meike and the butchers came from behind to the front into the shop.
"Good evening."
"3 couples Viennese, please."
"Yes, this one at last what, you do you think, Meike "? ???

Subsection: A B C D E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q S T U V W X Y Z

02.06.01 Text subsection R-T

I think crossways and my conception of the world is shifted. Let's take the following story 1:
A technical employee married, children suburban flat in a plate design block of flats, hobby workshop in the cellar. For three months, this man makes every morning, before he goes to work to the office, carpenter's work in his cellar. Otherwise there is nothing striking, but nothing at all.
That bloke is building himself at due leisure in his plate block cellar a really exciting machine with all accessories. A guillotine! Great, with black varnishing and a 25 kg thick steel sheet as a knife, filed very sharp in careful handiwork. He tested it with a cabbage: perfect. He tests with a mangold-wurzel: super, smooth clean cut, a true joy.
The next morning, breakfast as usual, first into the cellars, and he then breaks out from his misery. He undresses. He throws his clothes and shoes into the dustbin, puts himself on his very fine little tool. He fixes his neck between the joists in the hole, let the beam lock snap shut, and is caught now: ready for take-off. He wanks to get his last ejaculation and releases with the foot the guillotine knife. Rruummp! His head falls into the bag. The hot testing was a perfect success. What does this story tell me? I say:
"That is ok. The man has worked hard for his success; I am glad for him to have had his success, was his, and was super, anyway.

S) Parable two: Young woman single, lives in intact normal Teutonic family, everything ok.
In a beautiful night, the young girl cycles into the wood, she stops and undresses completely; she fastens a rope at an overhanging branch; sits down on the bicycle again; Knots her neck into a loop on the other end of the short rope, and then she goes hard into the pedals. She executed herself in a cowboy way, with a bicycle as a horse and got stuck fidgeting hanging by her neck, till she was gone.
This is a completely different story to me. I feel:
"This is agonizing; the woman had courage, a pity, I would have enjoyed knowing her personally. I am conceited of course she would still be alive then, she hadn't had herself exterminated and would have lived on, me and her courage supporting each other and wanking off together. For her I would immediately have cut my jeans leg off and I would have gone on holiday with her.
The quality of a person or how one said in the old days, her heart, we often recognize only, when it is too late."
Without her Exit she would be a completely unknown stupid, young brat to me. Gives to think to me. Why do I say to the beheading: "well," and to the hanging: "unbelievably sad." and this I, with my perverted fantasy stories. I tell you, the actual life is still by far more exciting than all fantasy. That is in a way what I believe in so in that manner.

T) So now far in the text:
"you mean what, Meike?"
"I already know him. Some of my guests would like to get him on the grill or see him made into sausages, he already knows too much of too many. The sex boys have to get off after some time into sausages and the back end hams belong into the smoke chamber".
Then she turned round to me:
"You. Ah, you randy arse, how about the leading role in an extremely randy slaughter? Show us your goods, panties down, show little prick "!
OK. I was slaughtering-randy, anyway; so I undressed fast and made read for examination by Meike on suitability for butchering. Meike is an absolute expert for randy slaughtering ass-holes, she has a good eye for a suitable product, and it therefore was a joy, being checked by her. Very slaughtering-randy, so fast, how this one undressed:
"Can't expect it, what? You abnormal false sow."

Subsection: A B C D E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T V W X Y Z

02.06.01 Text subsection U-W

Old Fritz came for sweeping out into my luxury flat now.
My wish: Castration and then well done really sleek perverted pig slaughtering. With really hard beatings of the buttocks till tender, beat belly of pork tender, denipple, grip sow mercilessly at the member and penectomize, cut navel out and carry on with deboweling.
I only hope, that it isn't made too humanely. A perverted sow is finally castrated there. As a sow I also want to have something of this. One can be castrated only once. The slaughter should after castrate be acted 4-6 weeks so. Sow can be butchered only once, too.
I am also slaughtering-randy. Perverted butchers are even harder to be found than randy castration surgeons. I find it randy unbelievably, if the butcher separates the two buttocks of the sow exactly with the axe in the anal cleft. It is already worthwhile alone for it, having oneself slaughtered. I pull 3-4 perverted pig slaughterings through as a jerk off dreams with myself as a sow every week. In reality, unfortunately, one gets only the first quarter of the perverted butcher's work. I hope, that I still will get the belly ripping.

V) Ah. Ah. Old Fritz, who would have thought, you have this sex fantasy in mind. Apart from an old boar nobody does know your randy thoughts.
Hello, Jackob, my thick friend, you are already old, too, have also grey bristles too. The life is so: too short and lousy? No, I think, I go in pension; and you will be stuffed into the sausage. But you, Jackob, my fat friend, they will cut your nuts off form you first, all the two thick boar testicles.
Yes, you are only jealous Fritz: on my fat ones, on my fat dick, my easy life and on Pia. This is a life, if she makes it on you; Pia is a good one. Don't care about it the Fizzy, you aren't the only one, there is a crowd of little pricks, who would like to change theirs with mine.
Fritz cleared the excrement away, and brought fresh straw. He knocked me pally for farewell on the shoulders. He needed a little comfort, wanted to have a little bit from the flair of his stout mate. In the pub, he is boating, I have a friend, he has honestly such! A big one, you could actually become blind. So was a little bit of my glimmer falling on Fizzy too, so he went in alone into the old brothel.
So long Fritz, till tomorrow.

W) I had my heavenly peace now again. It was dark; Elvira was without panties, in the little black, terrific legs. Legs? I see the two naked gigantic legs of a thanksgiving turkey. Between them in the crotch hung the freshly torn up bottom of the little chicken Corrina. The evisceration pusher stamp has just plunged through and the entrails suction tube has brutally kissed the sweet little bottom with vacuum. The chicken arse is still a little damp, of the grease, little bit of blood and process water. Freeze image switch, motionless and with closed eyes I enjoy the sight:
the small black, turkey's gigantic legs and Corrina's beautiful little open ass.

Smell of burning climbs into my fine nose.
Elvira, you are again frying your randy husband's for you hard standing up dick point with a cigar, he?
I am aware of something really perverted instead. My nose receives information from an atrocity of a great crime of mankind.
The Anglo-Saxons burn millions of pigs; on with old timber railway thresholds and coal filled enormous ditches. The pigs only have a cold! God in heaven, he shall condemn you for another fifty years to cucumber slices and salad on your sandwich, sawdust in your sausages, monarchy and driving on the left. Mistake the vibrator cunt for your dick with the cucumber slicer for the sandwich. You have lost the war, this is praiseworthy, but nothing learned from the history. It wasn't necessary for me to replay the cremation in the holocaust; I believe in it, I think, that it was even much worse than handed down. Against this the inquisitors were still puppeteers. People, believing to be no animals are bad.

Subsection: A B C D E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T U V W Y Z

02.06.01 Text subsection X-Z

Guard against the bad possibilities of genetic engineering. The new technology reveals undreamt-of possibilities of unfolding the bad to bad people.
But beware only of the bad ones. How to do?
Knowledge itself about the things around us is the most valuable material possession. Distinguishing good and bad is but the highest good of every species. This also applies quite particularly to pigs, dogs, and cats. The sacrifices to the Moloch where few and far between. The legions of death casulties in that part of the unholy world have many very much holier causes. Such a single one barbecued cock to the higher honor of Moloch is a joy, a single barbecued saint is an unwilling one too much, but mass burning, and against the will of the burned this is perverted. Consider what the Christians of Europe during the crusade did do to the Holy Land. Every victim of the sacred Holy Inquisition has been murdered. Any burned witch has been cruelly murdered; these with the witches were sex killings.

Y) All the sad thoughts really go me on the gonads. I need beautiful randy thoughts, if I shall bring about the performance tomorrow. You have the fault, if the Lord isn't satisfied with my sperm.
I hate you, you are perverted, because, you deprive me of my beautiful big nuts sometime and now of the sleep of the one and only just one.

Subsection: A B C D E F G H I J K L M

Subsection: N O P Q R S T U V W X Y

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