Category: Lords of Boblimptock

Your crevice brings pain …

Dingle-berry super heroes line up their SITES to find your CRINKLE-ZONE, and you hide it, even in those YOGA PANTS you wear to STARBUCKS. We see the oils, and the drips, we can sense your baby clock is reading HIGH NOON and it’s high time you had some Spluncton style snake magic.

Snake magic is a special kind of GOOF. You won’t know your own sploof-fig after the rine has been removed and the seagrass blooms. Your HERO SLAVE is done setting up the chains in the woodshed, and your missile-jackson style lover is waiting in the shower, for some “Kelly Clarkson” style love dancing.

I could hold on to your crinkle zone, bearing upon it the great weight of my lead pipe. But your heart is too free pretty bird, and your mind is fit for apes.

My own sklebick-energy could not compare to your HOLE SPECTACLE … Your power juice weaved its ways into my broken hear, and sealed the cracks, releasing CREVICE SORCERY and anal magic.

I could have been a master of THROG-DOORS …

But your whorish ways led me astray, and I found nothing but pills and swamps and lost cowboy fondlers, wanting back into your pants … your crevice gold.

Cantor?

With your infinite sets?

I don’t need your pseudo mathematical bullshit, when here grease river flows, like turtle gravy – and there’s no HOE STOP for granny town types and hicksters from Memphis.

MARK MY WORDS: your hole is for the skeeg-mice.

Puddle flower …

Your purple eyes spoke volumes, as your body sunk beneath the surface of those love-oils. You would take your luxurious bath, as the swans sang songs of bad ice. And NOWHERE is your lover SWAYNE … and nowhere is his herpes.

Most of you are mungit beasts, you will feed upon tripe with the ghost priests.

I know 7 techniques that will allow you to achieve total sexual mastery.

I’m not going to share them … not for free.

There’s this part of a woman’s spleegus-area that exudes a greasy black mineral, you bite into that, you gain insight into your own madness.

I can show you how to ungudoolate a woman so that she reaches a 9 on the soob-nah scale of female juices.

Women hunt after my jewel-sauce.

I got 6 kinds of woman for 12 kinds of love making.

I can sense your orgasm, smell it, taste it.

I’ve been making a lot of headway with my 4 primary systems of SEX POWER and PUSSY GREED: a) cup her dinglies, b) embrace her horns, c) crush her with rod passion, d) spew on cue … follow these steps, and you too will have complete love mastery.

“Ladies … want some flesh pie?”

I have love potions baby …

I’m out there in the night, ready to tuck you in.

I can fill your cup, butterfly dearest.

That’s right baby – I have my eye on your booty.

I see your love dreams and can envision you, running through the jungle, scantily clad, being hounded by sweaty prison guards …

I saw you dancing last night, to that new song.

I saw you touch yourself, and you know I was there … watching.

I love you baby.

I’ll give you a salad mixer, if you toss my salad.

Your blood boils as your lust builds,

and your window sill hooker waits,

the metal grates clink as you sink into her chasm.

She screams: “That’s not ice cream!”

And you say: “Nah, that’s NICE CREAM.”

I can teach you about STOOB-JENKINS MAGIC …

Your woman will never know what hit her, as she moans in pleasure-agony, and her sprinctal-zone ignites with juice power.

Is she looking for an old style “beefeater”, but what she says she wants is the “English Navy”?

I was your Steve McQueen style lover, and your body shivered under my great escape …

I shattered your G SPOT with my “sunny day dandy”, and you screamed as though a million suns were burning in pleasure.

You called me your “shimmy McDoogle”, and I said “keep shining river squirrel” …

Your kestrel arc, as you slid my meat pipe into your cubby, slew me baby … and that “twice chewed pork” routine? – damn girl, damn

I’ve seen you – demon lord.

Master of that newer scene, one so mean and lean that no body will stop your witch’s bosom … and such green tips, and lips that shine and rhyme with that moan you make, you know baby …

Can I be your Canadian monkey, if you will be my Monte Cristo Woman?

Is there a greasy place for us?

I am going to be an ATOMIC WARLORD during the time after.

I’m going to slink out in the night for a tough fight, with razors in both hands – I’ll make my stand against the raiders from region-NOVEMBER. Our careless use of gasoline will set the world ablaze, as we raise hell chasing down slunk-flesh and renting out whores … in the time of Atomic Warlords.

If my bones creak from the freak wrestling on Saturday nights, I’ll just drink ol’ Doc Grunkis’ tasty “horse cider” and I’ll be fine by morning, leaking blood and pus from all the holes.

I was never supposed to leave the nursery, bare chested and filled with spunk! But my old granddaddy said “boy, get going, no soup here” – there wasn’t, all the loygan-soup had been consumed, and all that was left was YMCA shower fermented foot debris and residue … and this wasn’t great either. I fled the dworg-folk and made my way to Splunkton, where the women are hearty and the men sing songs.

I was beaten by the HOG FARMERS of Tacoma, when the razzle-dazzles rose up in fury and they shook their fists at KING EARL. There were fires set in nearby towns, and the hetzel-knights rode forth to chop off the heads of pimps and carousing nerdowells … But there were tender moments with Mistress Jenny and her mud style fisting and the “tango and cash” routine she did with her boovula.

She said: “You are my stone prince.”

I said: “You are my tornado flower.”

As our bodies became moist and greasy, we enravaged each other’s stink flesh, while she grabbed my “Howdy Doody”, and I massaged her “Lucy, I’m Home!” … she moaned, as the shaft dove deeper into the cave of wonder. And there was a moment of trembling, as love flashes expanded across her shivering bosom, but the smoky butt writhing soothed our haughty stink.

But I grew tired of her, so I left her in the glass pits of Grobb’s Town.

In those days I rode a tumor ridden brown bear named Rudy. Rudy and I made our way around the peninsula and all the way to Canada. We had chieftains bowing to us, as I lanced their finest and spat blood upon their sacred urns. Nothing was left but for me to RATTLE THE CAGES of the ancient ones, and see if old MINGUS JONES wants to battle with the apes of Seattle for the last cans of chili.

My time would come …

A time of taking out the old garbage, and dumping it some place.

A time of dancing and song, when the lullaby birds sing of newborn floss and the old rotting corpses smell less bad.

You can make your life there, when the sun cracks through …

A special place for me and for you …

You would see that white goo, and say “honey, fertilize my skigg-bag”, and I’d say “baby, I will jelly all over your dover-sack” … and that’s love.

And this was a story of love.

Did you take the garbage out?

I told you to, but did you?

Did you call your mom?

Your mom has been calling all day and she wants to know if you’re okay …

So did you call her? Shit head?

When you left your woman in bed this morning, as she languidly lay there, inconspicuously rubbing her “target zone”, did you consider that Robby the Repairman is coming later – to fix the pipes?

Robby knows where the clitoris is … do you?

Did you think that your life would be over, so soon?

Did you think your love would be darkness and ruin?

Think about her and Robby.

Did you make money on BITCOIN?

MILLIONS!

Are you living in a nice home not far from Fuegas?

FUEGAS CITY?

But your mind is an empty plastic trap, and your mouth festers with halitosis …

You have every STAR WARS action figure, but no love, nothing real …

Your hooker women are not real …

Did you wear a condom?

Did you find a way home?

A way back to that land of JOY and SORROW?

Is there some green pasture you might walk upon, as your bare feet capture soil and grass?

There’s a log cabin, with an old lady making supper … m’yeah …

There’s a woman in a wool dress, picking up mushrooms and chestnuts and elderberry …

There’s a dog, chasing squirrels … isn’t that nice?

And then you smell the lie – and the sky turns RED and the land is dead …

Did you pray?

Did you ever think about going to SPACE?

Riding in space ships, and chasing aliens, and having sex with green women that have large jugs?

Did you?

You could sign up with SPACEX, and travel to Mars and drive fast cars – hang out with Elon at that new Oxygen Bar on Olympus Mons or you could retrace the steps of Admiral Tagus, the first gondo-lord of Mars.

Did you think you would ever do any of that?

(you sad fuck)

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20231025_Salmas_New_Movie.mp3

Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles

Secrets and lies: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=9788

Some organs for sale: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=9790

Can I have some breast milk?: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=9797

Salma’s new movie …

Salma Hayek is coming out with a new movie …

Really sexy, she’s gonna take it up the rear from Magic Mike.

There will be scenes of bondage and jerk-chicken and squab grease, rubbed all over the nads and the boovula. She’ll be wearing a strap on made of roughly hewn cedar and burlap and coarse rope. Her screen name is Deluxe Interior, and Magic Mike is just … you know … Magic Mike. There will be a scene, in the middle of the movie, when Matthew McConaughey comes struggling into the bedroom, wrestling a robot anaconda, and complaining about butt sores and Fukushima style “crabs”.

It’s supposed to be a big movie – Oscar winner …

Perhaps the crowning achievement of Salma’s career.

Matt’s character, “Dwayne Rebar”, has a kind of platonic dialogue with Salma about “vaginal dryness” and the “blue pill” – of course, the secret guest star is Taylor Swift. Taylor’s character is named “Cheese Ramen”, and she smells like cat pee and slaughtered pigs. Taylor and Matt go at it, after Matt’s character injects himself with concentrated ROD STIFFENER, but it’s too much and he almost has a stroke … while blowing his load in Taylor’s ass. Taylor quivers, as Matt looks stoically into the distance … towards the cabinet … where he stashed his coke.

It all goes south when Dwayne proposes a “California taco”, but Salma’s character is like “I’m in the mood for an ‘eskimo pie’ …”

At one point in the film, Sylvester Stallone shows up …

Sly plays “Drexler Harley”, the evil metal-style biker dude who owns all the flesh trade on Sunset Boulevard …

Drexler pulls Taylor off of Matt, while Salma allows both Matt and Magic Mike to perform a “west side style chili cook off”, which in Ohio is called a “double salamander bbq”.

It gets weird …

At about the 90-minute mark, when you think the film is almost over? – when stuff gets VERY HOT. Salma’s character lay on her bed, exhausted and covered in sweat and splizz; she’s taken too much, and needs a break – but Drexler convinces the others, to include Taylor, to set Salma up for a “Tennessee slide show”, a very dangerous maneuver for anyone over 50 (spoiler alert). Their bodies are stretched and contorted, Drexler lets out a hideous scream … Taylor’s character is covered in torg-pudding and bleecher wax … It all gets worse, as the orgiastic pyramid is slathered with whipped cream and raccoon spice; Kortan-Raiders arrive to shove cucumbers and zucchini up the butts of Magic Mike and Salma …

Salma is tied to the bed, and marbles are placed in her butthole. She writhes in agony, and pleasure, as Drexler declares himself “Train Engineer” and starts lining up the players, Taylor first, with her “double eagle butt scratcher” style strap on … and Salma moans, heroically, as her thighs tighten, and she bites her bottom lip.

Near the end of the movie, as the players put on their clothes and apply BEN GAY, Salma walks with dignity towards a sliding glass door; she opens the door and stands outside, looking at a nuclear reactor melting down, in the distance.

“We were the dark selves, our juices are raw”, she comments to Drexler – but Drexler is having a stroke, he smells toast …

Matt’s character is passed out on the bathroom floor, covered in vomit …

Taylor Swift is snorting meth and dancing nakedly near the coffee table …

And Magic Mike? – he has crabs now.

Because they all learned a lesson, about love.