Total Sexual Mastery

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?

Where I’m at …

I’m not sad, or truly happy – just satisfied.

I don’t expect this to change, and I am grateful for what I have.

But it’s hard to say what “that” means. That thing that makes this worth it … the cheap weed? – no.

Something more, and maybe it will electrify me.

But the world feels broken.

I don’t think I care what people believe at this point – I fear for my own faith, some days, but not for the faith of others. Others will proclaim, as they kiss the boot of Satan, that they are “good” Christians.

Know who you are mode, before God.

This is boblimptock.

8 hippos …

“If you measured my penis in AR-15s? – it would be 8 hippos in size.” – Dr. Freckles

FACTS MOST DON’T KNOW ABOUT AR-15s:

  • they can be used to launch satellites, they are that powerful
  • only ancient Egyptian kings had access to them, before 3D printers
  • one AR-15 can kill up to 300 billion people

When I die …

When I die?

Chuck me out of a moving car, as you drive recklessly through the hell zone of San Francisco.

Make sure I’m RIPE and READY and so dissolved that my body splatters and explodes, as you toss it out on the street going 55 MPH.

Let the rat and the pigeon feed upon me.

When I die …

Take me up in a CESSNA to about 7,000 feet and drop me on WA DC. Have a streamer attached to my body that reads: TAXES PAID IN FULL! Try to hit the WA monument, so that my body explodes on the tip, just the tip …

When I die …

I want all my parts harvested, and dried out, turned into a powder, and sold in China Town.

(I don’t care how racist that sounds)

(I’m dead)

When I am no longer here …

I’ll drink beer with Gabriel and smoke weed with Jeremiah.

I’ll spend all day reading the ancient texts, and then “show up” and SCARE YOU, like a ghost … but I’ll have the most joy when you’re naked in the bathroom, lathering your boobies.

We had Fantasy Island …

What about FENTANYL ISLAND?

Cheese cave …

“If there’s no more gold at Fort Knox, and the strategic oil reserves are nearly empty, why would we expect there to be cheese in the cheese cave?” – Dr. Freckles

Cheese is a good food for bunkers …

So I just have a hard time believing they’ve been “saving our cheese” for us … it’s not OUR cheese …

In fact: that nasty “Who moved my Cheese?” bullshit corporate cargo cult from 20 years ago was probably the result of this CHEESE bullshit.

https://www.farmlinkproject.org/stories-and-features/cheese-caves-and-food-surpluses-why-the-u-s-government-currently-stores-1-4-billion-lbs-of-cheese

It seems like the government would be storing women’s vaginal yeast by about this time …

“If there’s a government CHEESE CAVE, then shouldn’t there be a government HOOKER CASTLE?” – Dr. Freckles

Cans … (like in Scientology)

“When I establish MY CULT, we’ll have these things called ‘cans’ … but they won’t be electro-doodly bullshit, they’ll be boobs … you hold on to your interrogators boobs.” – Dr. Freckles

“JUGS are the key to truth.” – Dr. Freckles

The Time of Atomic Warlords …

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?

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)

“We need that new cannon …”

“We gotta build dem dare PLOTON CANNON before THEY DO!”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“How the fuck should I know …”

“We gotta harvest suptick-fuel from the Himalayas … and you know China doesn’t care about babies …”

“We gotta build a rocket catapult?”

“Why?”

“So we can reach the sky, then …”

“Then what Ben?”

“We’ll touch the face of God baby …”

“We have to deploy the X-RAY BEAM.”

“Why my friend ZED?”

“Because if we don’t, the bad guys will zap us dead.”

“Then what happens pal?”

“We retire to a cottage and smoke crack in SO-CAL.”

“That’ll be nice …”