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Mushroom Mushroom

Posted by nietzlawe - 1 month ago


Capricious prick, seeking strict Sikh Mistress, with no inhibitions, and an innie belly button to lick out grape juice. No need to take my dick out and rape you. No need to tape you screaming, scraping away my semen while raging "I hate you, I hate you!!!" This is only Day 2 of our date, Julia! And I should have estimated that you were a late junior! Time to make a new album called The Jeff Stein EP. And make this blog as seedy as anything seen on a TV screen. Better than a threadbare teat-free screen. So eat us if you don't like what we set out to teach these teens! We're all coy and shy, until we've had an odd whisky, and then we're able to speak easy... and take flight, speech breezy, like a Scottish lighthouse. Putting back the pieces in place as our confidence increases in phases. A rejuvenation of juvenile behaviour culminates, it's human nature, and ends with pulmonary cystic fibrosis. The mystics couldn't predict that! But the sadistic ones laugh, as they see most people as misfits adding to the overpopulation statistics. We're all taking up 1 space. Maybe Earth is the wrong place to grow our numbers as we overactively sow our oats. We should slow our oars, not row our boats! Let's get out and drown our sorrows by going to the nearest bar which just happens to be in the weirdest part of town. Unapollogetic 11 Inn, which sane people are never in. Just 5-7 crazies with bad hygiene, and a few desperate ladies popping Rohypnol in their own Baileys Irish Cream. Hayley, Iris and Eileen. We suddenly feel alienated and isolated it seems, and like this is some kind of wild dream. The world has gone like the Wild West so why dream of a bright future? The only light is another night in front of the computer to hide from any cunt that tries to shoot ya. It never used to be this way, tryna get through each day without reaching a stage where you wanna leave this place. We wish we could lead this state. People wouldn't need these steak knives to take lives, pretending that civilisation is high stakes. So what if you feel a little pissed and irate? Every man, woman and child have to learn to meet life's fate. We're never gonna meet our maker, just an undertaker. All that labour for nothing, you may as well have been nuttin' up, rutting the carpet, fuckin' down instead of fuckin' up. To sum it up quickly, everything sucks in the midst of these crushing blows. Feel like squishing Crusha cups and dumping hundreds of straws in Oceans of fauna. It feels like more and more of those around us are ghosts. Floating through the atmos, ATM, twats in motion, that little fucker is gonna make a new website called insociabl. And promote chop suey as a main, and some on the side.. of his plate. We're late for this dinner party, and should have been here when it started. Animal face masks, orgies, even Epstein was here prowling like some modern day Phantom of the Opera. We smell foul play and the adventures of Sir Ralph Lane. It's now plain to see that my naans were original, as was that chap, Patrick. Fuck the shashlik, grab the hash quick! It's under Matt's trestle table. By the wrestling magazine with Sable on the front. Just joking, we're making this all up. Like br o ken comm u nication. But to say thanks we strangle you as a chokin' of our appreciation. That Priest they hate him. Fucking Judas. Students fear him like UCAS clearing. But what about Hugh Jass's new Jazz alBUM? It's got about as much flavour as Nestle's Wowsomes. Ouch. Hey, keep on reading as we slouch, pissing and bleeding out these words like Needham, Norfolk. If you can't join 'em, flay 'em. We'd rather be disappointed than appointed as some generic poindexter. Would rather be shot down in flames, than what could be gained from surviving the tanks and planes. "Survivor? No Thanks." Better to bow out now than to bow down and live the rest of your life cowing to those in power. "Nietzlawe is ready when you are. Get them guns ready." I won't even run. Everybody's time will come. "But mine, right here right now. I'm done." And with that sense of clearance, I'll live every future day as if it's a thirst that needs quenching. Kill the tension, by reversing this trend with some mind bending verses of heightless ascension. Calm down, everything's fine, except Joseph's technicolour Dreamcoat, which just happens to be coated in semen, but that's another story only he can tell. Although the cunt can't coz he's on hell's Kitsch show. And somebody tore it! The Book of Genesis is fake. GMOses. The Book of Bollox. But pupil peoples will swallow anything... even that Novichok that should never be chucked around willy nilly. You'll come unstuck, unlike that semen on Joseph's coat. A Stubborn Stain that could easily have been a newborn baby. Gonna call the next one Abortia, coz it was conceived in Georgia. Brain shrinking from underthinking. Time to see a shrink, and even he's a midget! Too busy messing with a fidget spinner, so I picked him up and span him. Midget spinning... then I stuck him on my fridge door. Midge Magnet. The double MM always spells trouble. It's always a recipe for disaster, like going in a field and eating ripe aster tripolium. The Origins of Seizures. Tribal Tribulation ongoin' while drinking IBE like it's coming into me via IV needle. Nie no longer feels weak and feebl, he feels strong enough to bring back laughter to the people like a magical freakish Weebl. The slump was shared and laughter was scarce, but hopefully this is the last of the curse, as we thought our words were in a hearse's casket. It hurts to feel nothing for such a long time, it scares, as we are used to burning bright, inferno-like. How about some Pernod? Erm, no. Gin and tonic? Or join a gym and stop it altogether? Fuck a gym, he can't fix shit, unless it's some devilish crucifix shit. Or malevolently molesting some kids on cruise ships with Tom's crews. The whole world is cloak and dagger, as three blokes walk up, go for your throat, grab, choke and stab. All because they were on coke and acid, as they don't want to live in a woke world, all these big companies breaking their own morals is a joke in itself. It won't work. Like Gillette. But listen... "Gilli Gilli Gilli can't you see? sometimes your ads just irritate me. And I can't stand your toxic ways, that's why Harry's Club is here to stay." True Story. And the sales drop is too late to stop. Men are toxic? These days most men are hikikomoris. Hikikoboredshitless since they closed our pubs and broke off the free love movement. Most people these days don't keep guns in their apartments. Now they keep them in their glove compartments incase someone starts trou blé. Just sayin'.. who is to blame for this shameless period of slayings? Stray Dawgs or Lone Wolves? Or maybe the guy from Phone Booth. Who calls people and says "don't move." Even in a dance club. Macabre Cadabra. Where is my Cadbury's flake? "Someone threw it in that vinegar lake in Shanxi!" Thanks, Bigfoot. You should have kept your lips shut, now you're a bit fucked. You and Chupacabra stealing all those fuckin' Chups. Whole tubs! I've nothing left to suck on but whale blubber and Hale and Pace reruns. I should pace myself with ale instead of drinking until my face gets pale. I should feel so blessed and merry that I can drink Henry Weston's Perry. And even the rest of the sherry. "Any more and you'll be arrested on the ferry, Brian!" I'm not on a ferry, and my name's Ryan. I'm actually at a furry fetish club in Thirsk for thirtysome aged fuckers. Some of these hounds haven't even the courtesy to turn up in nurse outfits to flirt with me. Just 60 alcoholic College students into norse mythology. The four horsemen with cocksintheirlips. Who else would want to flock to this shit? This is worse than the Culinary Expo. I prefer Lady Julina and that crazy cute teen that's Eastern European. Sigh... I don't believe I've got long left on this rock, I'll leave what's left of these lungs to this rockstar to smoke hard drugs to his heart's content. That's the thing with being a donor, it makes you a target, especially if you have a big dick and someone needs a boner. Hard Target ft. Jean Claude van Monet. What if that film was uploaded to YouTube, would it get demonetized coz of the swearing? Who even cares if Care Bears curse? The worst is yet to come, when sugar cane gets taken away like a cowboy's sweet dame. They don't give a fuck about my allergy to steviol, wheat intolerance and chiral rain. Even that news is tough to swallow. You know the times are crazy when David Icke and Alex Jones are saviours. If freedom fighters invited you for a threesome would you try it? Would you rather save the world? Or enslave the world? I'd rather spend my days as a slave in Hot Jav porn. Then direct a new film called Half Metal Jacket. Martin Demise's new baby. Obviously censored like fuck in China. By the time it's released over there, it's name is Obey the Party. We should all obey our party instincts. We should all be given a pardon from the farce of life because farting around is a part of life. That's why in 2008 I started these blogs. To tear apart the locks of depression and express these hard school knocks. And now I miss that era, and almost tear up as I wish it back dearly. Not cut out for modernity. I prefer things a little dirty. Slightly chaotic instead of highly robotic. New technology.. I should stay off it as often as I could. Until I'm in my coffin, being carried off and I'm inside rotting. As the next sucker is born. Going through the same shit, but even more insane and neurologically brain-dead. Unaware of great bands and great times. Long before Lucy Unfairian jumped in the hot seat of a Bandwagon and commandeered The Relevant Forces in order to kickstart World War Quatre. Long before we planned space flights to Jupiter and Saturn. We'll never get there, not while we're sat on our Collective Behinds, playing with our erect bellends. None of this blog makes sense... I mean why's it called Mushroom Mushroom? I mean it doesn't give you much room for explanation. But.. but.... "The truth hurts like that tooth fairy who promised you sex at 2.30am." Instead you're perched on the bog with your gut growling and fouling again. Legally though. Can't get fined for taking a dump on an actual toilette. But what if you could? "Send this one down!" ... And that's just the turds! The worst toilets are the ones at the bus station where you have to pay to get through a turnstyle just to shit. What a fucking liberty! Where's Lady Justice when you need her? "Too busy holding that bloody scale!"


Comments (1)

I'd sacrifice a testicle or two to drink grape juice out of Sikh Mistress' belly button.

After such a long workout, Meena wanted to introduce her male sub to the sensuous art of navel worship. In the west, the navel was a neglected part of the anatomy when it came to anything sexual.

This guy. Let's just say his name was S3C, was going to learn very well how to serve, pamper and worship Meena's curvaceous stomach and bellybutton. One of the most popular worship techniques employed by Sikh women at this Palace was to have male and female servants eat or drink food and liquids straight from their bare navels, with the banquet serving as a palette.

Some of the women liked to work up a heat by performing a belly dance before lying their curvy stomachs flat across the faces of slave subs in order to force them to deeply inhale the pheromones and be completely swamped by the delicious sweat seeping from the pores of their soft springy flesh.

Meena was naturally dominant and strong. Her ample breasts emphasised beautifully and powerfully, locked inside the confines of a tight sweater. Every twist and turn made her upper body look enormously sumptuous. She held a green seedless grape between her thumb and forefinger just above her bellybutton and gave it a little squeeze until it finally capitulated between her fingers and the juice dripped down into the hole of her navel.

"No licking, boy. You're going to suck it out."

"Yes, Princess Meena."

As he reverently used his lips to slurp the juice out of Meena's navel, Meena this time had placed a second grape into her mouth and began to suck on it. Being very careful not to break the tight texture with the inside of her mouth. Once satisfied it had been there long enough, she fished it out with her thumb and forefinger. The fruiting berry now entirely wet with saliva was crushed by Meena's fingers again until it popped and the juice dripped down and ran into her deep navel.

This time, the remaining mangled pulp and skin was pushed down into her bellybutton as deep as it would burrow.

"Now you are going to worship across my lower stomach and when I am satisfied, you will use your tongue to clean out my navel cavity."

"His tongue began to skate along Meena's light brown stomach, coating every inch of springy soft flesh with small licks of reverence. Her nose sensually savouring the natural pheromone of the Sikh woman's midriff.

"Good boy." Meena's tone was quite patronising. She gave a smug, authoritative smirk.

"Get used to it, you're going to be spending a lot of time down there. Or further down. My feet get very sweaty during the summer. I love to have you worship my hot and spicy body." His eyes strayed upwards without thought, inducing a forbidden meeting with Meena's cruel, brown oval-shaped eyes.

"Face your eyes back down to my bellybutton now! Put that tongue to good use!"

He let out a small grunt of exhalation. Meena emptied the juice of another tight grape into her deep bellybutton as though it was some kind of drinking trough. A delicious trench that she continued to refill again and again.

The slave began to collect the sweet nectar with the tip of his tongue as deep as it would reach inside the well of her navel, swilling and licking, twirling and absorbing every portion of sweat and grape juice into his own mouth.

Meena was enjoying this delicious game of navel worship.

He had little option but to submit and serve in such a way, surrendering entirely to Meena's being, destined to spend every moment of his subjugation suffocating in overwhelming and sensuous Sikh succulence.