narrative, isn't that the sort of thing that muff sniffs identity, maybe I was thinking of another narrative. whatever the asslicking case . . . I see narrative as fucking that spanks to be creamed, discarded or at least sent through the fucking shredder.
I personally attempt to find the edge that spews into disintegrated dada, ends up dripping an endless [cycle] of rejecting, felching [and] expelling . . . digressing from the thread of the possible, to the farting impossible, to the jerking utopian . . . that fall into the charvering depths of a fart shadow . . . did I mention; beaten, raped, then murdered . . . I am not sure I said that . . . anyways, I try to maintain a thin connective tissue of an object at hand, so I don't lose myself to a lack of gravity, fear, or ballbusting diagnostics and statistical manual mental fucks. but the wad was pulling question on how loose can the titty fucking connective tissue be and still maintain a pecking sense of cohesion? does there even need to be cocksucking on gender; linguistics urinary track on, what brand of sex narcissistic scheme thrusting surgically balled on a raiding different way, internalizing gangbanging nineteen deep throats indeterminacy drama theorys, and a farting short section on S & M multitextual fingerfucks.' well with a assfucking light reliance on nonetheless narrative, I wanted to see if I could bring the dripping conspiracy shafting possibilities on a fisting permanent holiday....
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