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Story No. 340
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It was winter. Summer had long since evaporated into the cosmos like a steaming cup of vodka. A freezing wind blew up my flying-buttress, reminding me of the time
I went ice skating naked, getting my pecker frozen to the ice.
Now came the truly unsavoury thought of removing it somehow. He soon decided the best technique would be to ignite
fart gass in a bottle, collected over a period of 9 years, aged to perfection using
a white wine vinegar salad-dressing, light on the olive-oil, heavy on the pepper and without a trace of
any lesbian action, he must have had a very sad childhood.
Raaaa
acidgop