Newsgroup: it.salute
Titolo: Re: need a date look here

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I'm Candi click below to look me up.





pearlymae.infoDear emaciated maggot Candi,
please feel free to gnaw ravenously at the mound of crusted shit that
represents your dour, foul smelling future.
The joyous wriggles of your white segmented being display the simplistic
happiness that takes you from hour to hour on your nihilistic journey
towards metamorphosis into the fat hairy blowfly that you will soon become.
Then, instead of wallowing in the feces and squalor that you were born into,
you will at last have the mobility and the means to find your own fetid
stench and putrefying surroundings, and find some life of your own.
You know nothing of skill, motivation, focus of energies, and ambition.
Yet you work hard.
Your mouth (proboscis?) chewing the fibrous turd that sustains you, just as
busily as your bloated anus spews its own recycled stool from the other end,
like some twisted type of diarrhoea flavoured slurpy machine.
The fact that you have the presence of mind to attempt masturbation as you
imagine being bludgeoned with my turgid cock, is surely proof that there is
hope for you. Your ability to fit in at least one base instinct between
feeding and defecating shows that you have the potential to survive among
the other maggots that squirm beside you. Perhaps even the attention span to
lure them with you once you eventually morph into the compound-eyed, six
legged freak that you hope to become.
How proud you will be (and how proud I will be for you!) when you buzz
unsteadily through the air, looking for forgotten cum-stains, weeping open
sores and uncovered latrines, your Dark followers weaving an annoying flight
pattern around you.
The paternalistic joy on your ugly fucking face as your fellow blowflies
suck the ghastly essence out of whichever grotesque feast you find for them.
Yes, you could be Lord of the Flies.
What a bright future there is for you, my chubby little worm-like friend.
So many corpses in which to lay your arseful of eggs.
So many sweat-drenched labourers to buzz around, hoping to find a temporary
sanctuary in some unwashed armpit.
And your opportunity for leadership.
The ability to lead your hungry hordes of buddy blowflies towards a
barbeque - only to settle for freshly laid dog shit, or the bag of rotting
prawn shells hung to attract you, instead of pursuing the delights of the
prime rib steak or the perfectly cooked chicken. You have no class. The
stench of the gutter has the acidic saliva churning around your jowls like
the foam of a rabid dog. Your attention is turned from freshness by the
aroma of vomit and decay.
I have time for you, my unfinished little insect.
I would not swat you flat into a graphic pattern of splattered innards. You
mean more to me.
I would sit in the bath naked, with only my Hard on sticking out of the
water like some formidable towering island, and I would pick off your wings
and let you crawl around on my prick, traversing its vast surface looking
for some way out of your dire predicament. How I would laugh at your
confused face, you trying to fly, and wondering what was wrong. You would
walk, up and down, round and round, tickling my glans as you sought
redemption.
I may even touch myself, teasing my boiling sperm around my fat egg-sized
testicles, until that moment where you walked onto my piss hole, when I
would violently cum and plaster you to the porcelain on the edge of the bath
with a missile-like ejaculation of my gelatinous load.
To others, you are annoying.
But I find you entertaining.
That is what you are to me.
An amusement.
But I cant pick off your wings until you grow them.
So keep eating shit. Maggot.
warmest regards,
-- Rev. Dr. Bifford Biffington©
THIS is NO scam..
Rappelez-vous svp de visiter 
http://biffstoejam.com/paypal.html
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votre donation quotidienne libre !
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