Erotic Lit Q&A #1.   

For decades my family has had this little perverted Q&A game we play. Last week, a few of us tried a variant on it where we take turns writing fucked up erotic literature, only seeing the sentence before the one we’re writing. The result was great. Now, every Friday at 10:00pm at Barnacles on Medlock Bridge Road we will be meeting for drinks, cigars, food, and insanity as this game makes us laugh more than the law should allow. Last night was glorious, and over the next while I’ll be sharing some of the results. It may not work perfectly as raw text, but trust me when I say that it’s a blast.

Participants: Dave Wagner, Kurt Miller, Cesar Montoya, Will Mason, Gray Whitten, Andrew Sweeney, Justin Waddell, Nick Nunziata, Andrea Rothe, John Makarewicz


     He left the Whitesnake concert covered in semen and cotton. At that point, he just wanted a milkshake and a roll in the gay. Speaking of points, his didn’t exist- he rubbed it until it disappeared. Such was life in the world’s only Yeti/Amish hedonist village. And he had to take a poops real hard. He shouldn’t have eaten a whole pile of the neighbor’s yard waste three days prior… He hoped that there would be no evidence of the coming violation. He moved it by tasting his own spillage. Mmmmm. “True love”. At least, my doctor says so. How can I be sure? I decided to test my luck in the world of Piss Porn. Jackpot, baby. It was Yellow Fever 2008. Piss drunk, as my mom would say. And she would know, the carpet cleaners knew her by first name. Her period blood in beakers, she headed out into the wild for a little magical adventure. She licked the rim of the glass phallus and breathed deeply as she felt the first throbs of fuck in her gash.


     She begged
him to earn his Red Wings before getting up inside.Not a fan of hockey,
Wilson stood there frozen. Because he wasn’t moving, I took advantage
and fucked his ass! His ass, named Brighty, was a Grand Canyon tour
guide. He knew every nook and cranny of her Grand Canyon, that was for
damn sure. And spelunking was required. That was cool, because my shit
has been knee deep in shit before. Not as moist as she was used to. But
them such is love. Love with chimps. Speaking of chimps, do you have
any french onion dimp? All over my ass flavor. So glad mom gave me a
straw. “This is the last straw!” he screamed, defiant in this final
glory. So he camed all over his own tits.


     Penelope gazed longingly out the window, her lace-lined love cave gaining humidity. “I hope a man’s peep gets near me soon”, she said. “I need my climate clit rained across”. It was time for Sonic Scrotum, his favorite video game besides Packed Man. He traveled the globe with only his man-cunt and a worn out copy of ‘Patriot Games’. He had rubbed his peep raw on every page of that Tom Clancy classic. That book was better than my neighbor’s cum rag I found in his Thursday morning trash. It reminded me of when my favorite uncle would tell me stories of ‘Nam while riding the unicorn on his lap. The unicorn’s name was Tabitha, and she knew a leather bra like a Quaker knows butt jiggles. I told the mare to hold still as I steadied the sex swing over her horn and exposed my pulsing chocolate starfish. BAM! Finally, the horse plowed my shithole like a freshly planted field.


     The was a witch with a great body Boobhilda. She was entranced by a young goose named Fredrick, but this love was unrequited. Except when it wasn’t and cum-filled beaks where the order of the day. The day was Th-Hers-Day, which meant it was time to bend over… hard. She bent over and revealed a map to the lost city. Pussyburg. He knew that as soon as he placed the Gem of Clittorak on top of his rod, and when the sun shone in, her H-Spot would be revealed. The gem shone red, illuminating his home world with vaginal glow. I teased her opening with the tip of my oral love muscle and, I must admit, I think a swallowed a few unborn gentlemen from the previous gentleman’s steaming wad. I thought more about why I didn’t vote for Mr. Pineapple. I’m not a fan of spiky pieces, as a rule, but it really got to me with him. I mean really got to me – my meats was skewed times two.


     Her breasts throbbed at the sight of Woodsy the Owl. She wondered if Apple Jacks could be considered erotic. “What the Hell?”, she thought, and pulled out a large bowl. The bowl was filled with Super Golden Crisp. Erection City. My loins burned at the thought of the impending amazing. The amazing rabid clowns, which crashed through her gate in a rush of desperate laughter. Her water broke, so it got a loan. Much like The Statue of Liberty, she didn’t mean shit to me. I bent her in half and called Pedro and his enchanted velvet. We swam in a cauldron of musk. The musk, I believe, was scraped from the scum of Menopause-Tits’s quivering ass flaps. It was all I could do to hang onto my wad for the next 30 seconds of fuck. Then I’d wonder if Timmy wanted me to bring home Twizzlers. She did. They fit just right. Tight and Rough. Heaven.

- Nick Nunziata promises that it’s funnier in real life.

I go, here’s the latest thing I’m adding to the blog. Each day I blog I’ll
have a song, a piece of artwork, a photo, a Mary Worth, or something to
further justify your click and to give the trolls a little more ammo.
Today, The latest Killing Swarm from the next CD.
My Heart’s in Aricebo:

Nick – vocals, Steve – Bass, John – Drums, Micah – Guitar