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Originally Posted by Cyndalie
Dude, I totally had a dream about gerbils last night. They were being kept inside a carved out pumpkin when I found them and the pumpkin was rotting. The poor gerbil was almost dead and while I was making it a new cage and cleaning it off, it started to wake up and I was so glad cause I was sure he was a gonner. Now i'm wondering, am I sureu that was a pumpkin I pulled it out of?  |
best I can make of it is its a flashback of an earlier sexual escapade that you've repressed where a gerbil dies in your rotten ass.
(ducking)
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The details of my life are quite inconsequential.... very well, where do i
begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from
Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen
year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark.Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteena Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is
nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
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