Question:
GIRSCH FORGE. NUFF SAID
Response:
"Matthew W. Miller" <mwmil…@columbus.rr.com> wrote in message news:slrna1atsh.1gb.mwmiller@dhcp9586174.columbus.rr.com… > On Fri, 7 Dec 2001 07:37:56 -0800, White Bird <swa…@lycos.com> wrote: > >GIRSCH FORGE. NUFF SAID > No, not enough said. It was cross-posted, thus: > >Newsgroups: rec.music.beatles,alt.music.pink-floyd,alt.support.lupus > Watch that Newsgroups line next time.
Bugger off. I saw it. That’s why I posted there. Everyone HERE knows who the creep is. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> — > Matthew W. Miller — mwmil…@columbus.rr.com
Response:
NOTICE: This message may not have been sent by the Sender Name above. Always use cryptographic digital signatures to verify the identity of the sender of any usenet post or e-mail. For several minutes we sat quietly in the tub, each pissing deeply, his powerful meat packed tightly into my slick holemouth, sliding every so slowly in and out as we each moaned with the ecstasy of total raunchpigs. His fingers ran lines of shit across my forehead as my hands ran across his broad, beefy chest. Pulling himself back up slightly, he rested his fat and semi-cleaned butthole against my mouth again, plugging me once more into his swollen dumphole while he began to haul his heavy skin back and forth over the mammoth meaty head, drool dripping from his open lips onto my nose to mix with the shit that stained my face. His pace increased and he spit more heavily, burping and finally making deep choking sounds. He raised his butt just a little, again making those swollen, tasty lips hang slightly above me hard-working pig face as a deep gag erupted into a fierce torrent of thick vomit, flowing from beneath his black mantle of Hispanic mustache directly onto his pumping meat and down onto my face. A deep fart opened his butthole with several large chunks of soft, ripe shit which plopped into my gaping mouth to join the piss and vomit that flowed down from my face. His own lips hanging only inches above my face, long strings of green puke and drool mixing with his sweat to lie against my face. Pulling back at once, he squeezed the now foot long sausage at the base and dumped a heavy load of thick studcum straight into the toilethole which my mouth had become, shaking his pole to whack my face from side to side, his buttlips pulsating and gasping in the open air above my sewer face. With out a word, he stepped from the tub, spit a final mouthful of crud onto my sweat-soaked, heaving chest. From the floor, he picked up a roll of toilet paper and unrolled a small wad. Wiping deep into his butt crevice, with one hairy leg suspended in air, he tossed the filthy rag into the tub with me, confirming my used toilet status, the just walked away, leaving me to haul my meat fitfully in the tub of unflushed crud he’d created for me. Twilight was falling when I pulled myself from the bathtub of my most recent Bungalow’s scumfeeder. Thick gobs of my Spanish shitfeeder’s buttfood clung in patches to my goatee and ran in dark streaks across my swollen pecs. I retreated to my own front porch a few cabins away to smoke a cigarette and catch my breath, basking in the still warmth of the early summer evening. The solitude was broken suddenly by the distant ringing of a bell, followed by the sound of footsteps moving along the pathway. Antonio and Jack, my dark Mediterranean scum feeders from earlier that afternoon, appeared around a bend in the path and hastened to the doorstep where I sat. "Hey, pig," greeted Antonio, dressed now in a rancid grey jockstrap that barely contained his curled tube of cheese-stuffed suckmeat, "that’s the dinner bell! Time to chow down — Come on!" and he chuckled as he led the way back up the path toward the office cabin, his hair forested, hefty bubble butt bouncing before me.
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