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Story No. 225
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Wanking, wanking, wanking and wanking. That was all I thought about between the ages of 13 and 97. The object of my sordid fantasies varied but
once i hadn't any more porridge the machine immediately spat me out into a farce of a world with colors abound and not a pisspot of an idea where to get a moon pie at the current price of a dollar and a quarter. of a nickel, that is.
And so they felt it fitting to apply highlights to oneanother's anal beards and
indulge in a little "shout therapy". The breeze picked up and we
stood in a line and sang the national anthem whilst facing mecca with our trumpets firmly
clenched between each other's brown feathery egress, whilst Gary Wilmot looked upon us - his pride turgid in silent splendor and twitching with manic glee.
Ray Reardon
Harold Bishop
thegit