BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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When I was 19 years of age, I visited the ground and was introduced to time traveling. Halifax, Nova Scotia, was the place it almost happened. On the contrary, I wasn't searching for such. At the time, I felt misplaced and confused and unsure if up was down and east was west. Rather so stunning, she was 30 years to my senor. Exactly, her name was Jan Smacky Danziger's Bouquet Delivery Service. You see, I was finishing a workout as she was on the treadmill preventing the family's hereditary diabetes as I dropped the dumbbells on the floor, which caused two pesky clangorous blusters that resonated across the gym. Oh, I choose to do that...so other members respect my alphaness. Uncaring, I proceeded to the comfort station when she approached.
CRYPTIC TERMINUS
"Why must you drop the weights like that?" A voice from behind bellowed, interrupting my buck stroll. I turned to see and there she was—a 146-pound loving apparatus. She continued, "And you leave the dumbbells there in the middle of the walking path. Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Ugh. I'm retarded." I reacted. She yelped an annoying Jewish snicker that screeched me bones like a Scot enduring a reenactment performance of William Wallace played by a Negroe. And as I was cringing at that unexpected disturbance, I'd noticed she was reviewing my muscular structure, which drew her into a motherland of dumbfoundedness. She was bewitched by such magnificent wonder. What vagina wouldn't be, right?
"Do you want to time travel?" She invited as her eyes wandered down to my crotch, then to my chest and arms, ending at my scrumptious lips aching to be licked and bit.
"Ugh. Do I look like a Trekkie?"
"What's a Trekkie?" She inquired from the realm of bewilderness.
"Star Trek Incels," I replied and rolled my eyes like a teenage cheerleader reacting to an oldcel pretending to be a teenage cheerleader.
"What's an Incel?"
"Ugh. T-M-I."
"And what's TMI?"
"Boring," I assured her as I walked away, but quickly, she rushed in front, obstructing my path. Oh, those tits jiggled into a settlement of chubby still.
Her hand pushed against my chest, containing me in place as she spoke, "I can show you how to time travel." My instinct was to bodyslam her then execute a flawless diving bulldog. But ugh, titter-titter, not so bitter. Eh?
"Okay. I'm in."
"One second," she conveyed stimulatingly, quickly stepped to the treadmill she was utilizing and reached for a glittered pink pocketbook from a compartment near its speed lever.
"Boring," impatience persisted. So I decided to omit and cruise to the locker room, and POOF! I was gone.
Well, not gone, gone. So I was inside the locker room. Ugh. But that door opened again, and it was HER!
"What the fuck is your problem?" saying as she raided the forbidden zone. "I'm now convinced you really are retarded."
"And you're violating men's privacy by being here." I guaranteed her with my chest out proudly. She hands me a piece of paper, so I read it. Duh. What else would I have done with it? Anyway, it was an address of a street not far from the gym.
"My home address," she gestured to the paper with raised brows. "I'm heading there now and will take a shower. Pass by in," she skimmed her Swatch and resumed, "thirty minutes."
"DONE!" I screamed like a raging roidster, turned my back to her, and proceeded to my lockbox—numbered 666. Ugh. And no, I'm not a devil worshipper. It was the only rental available when I joined the gym a few months prior. I'm not much into superstition and religious hexes, so the numbers meant nothing to me. The same nothing the Devil symbolizes.
I arrived at her living place two hours later and knocked on the door vociferously. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! Then I shouted at the top of my lungs, "This is the mounties! We have a search warrant!" And without much delay, the door quickly opens.
"What the fuck is your problem!" She whispered loudly in a frenzied manner and peered her head out—gazed in both directions of the hallway as several other doors opened with spooky neighbors peeking out as well. I cringed and thought to myself, Her neighbors are creepy as fuck. And nosey. She grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me inside her Oyster den. "If I wasn't horn-" she stopped herself and rephrased, "If I weren't sure you could handle time traveling, I would insist you leave."
"Ugh, tell me about it."
"And how are two hours, thirty minutes? Do you even know how to calculate time?" Sarcastically, she razzed my retardation.
"Yeah, and I'm feeling it's time to leave." And as I finished that very statement, she grabbed my tight hard bicep with both hands preventing me from departure. With wide eyes, she gasped at the sensation her hands were experiencing.
"No. You will learn time travel. But first, the fuel that ignites the fire that seethes time." She said and released my arm and proceeded to the kitchen, adjusting her hair in the process.
"If you say so." I felt an ominous warning of a sexual assault foreshadowing a gamey brew of lust. And the victim...would be me.
Half of an hour later, after a few shots of straight rye whiskey, we're in her bedroom, and she's lying on her bed in a short flower-patterned sleeveless cotton gown. She draws the bottom up, revealing a naked base. Shaved mutt, although bristled like a portion of a homeless man's neck after a quick shave in a fast-food restaurant bathroom. She opened her legs and glided her fingers up and down the crevice, then halted an index on its chimney. "Do you see this?"
"Yup. It's your pussy. I think."
"No. This part right here." She directed my attention to a small fleshy bump that resembled a vagina hemorrhoid by tapping it.
"You have cancer or something?"
"What the fuck?? No! That's my clit. But for you, it's a time portal. To enter the time continuum, you'll need to activate it with your tongue."
"Ugh. I rather get my dick wet instead."
"That can be arranged. Just take your clothes off and lay opposite of me, and as you work the portal, I'll wet your dick with my mouth." She then winked and removed her gown.
"Sounds like a plan, Jan." I quickly got nude and did precisely that. Eight minutes and forty-nine seconds later, after listening to her multiple gags and yacks and sloppy licking, my back's against the bed, and her vagina's grinding my mouth—she began climaxing. And simultaneously, I, too, started cumming. But nothing happened except an enormous rush of salty semen protein into her mouth and down her throat ending INTO THE BELLY OF THE CANADIAN MILF.
I was still inside her bedroom. Time hadn't changed. "Okay, something's not right here. Everything looks the same." I assured her something was not right here, for everything looked the same.
She swallowed, exhaled relief, sighed contempt, and said, "You fucked the time continuum! It's exhausted now. We'll try again tomorrow."
"Ugh. I sense you've taken advantage of my autism for your disturbing selfish orgasm." I declared my finding.
"I'll let you fuck me in my ass tomorrow that will activate a wormhole that you can use to travel to the future and retrieve lottery numbers, then back to the present and cheat as most Jews do."
"DONE!" I assured her with a holler and got dressed and left the apartment but accidentally tossed that piece of paper into a trash bin outside the front entrance of her complex on the way out.
I couldn't find her apartment the next day and didn't see her again in that gym. Perhaps, she got the time machine working and traveled to another epoch. Perhaps things were not what they appeared to be. Perhaps, I may be a future from a past she'd transformed, clarifying the confusion that baffled me all my life, thus a paradox soup. "Yummy, yummy," said Pandora, slurping a liquid from a miniature Kaaba.
"It is done."
"And why must that be?" Said Pandora as she laid the spoon beside the box and spun around on a barstool, now facing me.
"Because I'm a failure," I confirmed my finale.
"You are what you project yourself to be." She volleyed a fortune cookie printout.
"Too many assholes, too many liars, too much arrogance in this world of fabricated imagination."
"They project themselves to be such, for they believe this is as adequate as it gets."
"But why must they make themselves into a piece of shit?"
"Because their lives are bullshit. Their families are nasty thriving degenerates that don't deserve what they've stolen from good decent people. So they infect that disturbance onto their offspring that later exhibits such to the less favorable."
"Ugh."
"You live your life for what you're allowed." Then, as she stood up and walked over to the green screen window, she continued, "the reprobates will feast yet persist their creepy insignificant existence if you dare to push for more. Nothing must prevent their identities and agenda from prospering. Like tendering a garden, the gardener needs to know where the root of the weeds germinates."
"Fuck gardening. I buy my shit from the grocery store."
She sighed in defeat and acknowledged what I said earlier, "It is done."
I hovered over the Mermaid states and whispered a prediction of an event that hadn't happened yet to Pandora. She agreed with sorrow, then merged with the few clouds that overcast the desert. "To convince them they're not sleeping, tell them they're awake." I deplete my lungs and instinctively fall into the Earth until I'm back at its center. Confusion returned. Not sure if up is down and east is west. "If you lie consciously, you'll lie in your dreams." So I inhale and become the core once more.
Now if you're wondering what the first half of this story has to do with the second unrelated latter, ask yourself the following question. Does it matter? And if you answer yes...ugh, it's over for you. But if no is your response...ugh, it's really over for you.
However, if your retort is, "Wooka wooka wooka." Ugh. You're a star! There might be a future for you...after all.
...not really. It ended before it began.
CRYPTIC TERMINUS
"Why must you drop the weights like that?" A voice from behind bellowed, interrupting my buck stroll. I turned to see and there she was—a 146-pound loving apparatus. She continued, "And you leave the dumbbells there in the middle of the walking path. Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Ugh. I'm retarded." I reacted. She yelped an annoying Jewish snicker that screeched me bones like a Scot enduring a reenactment performance of William Wallace played by a Negroe. And as I was cringing at that unexpected disturbance, I'd noticed she was reviewing my muscular structure, which drew her into a motherland of dumbfoundedness. She was bewitched by such magnificent wonder. What vagina wouldn't be, right?
"Do you want to time travel?" She invited as her eyes wandered down to my crotch, then to my chest and arms, ending at my scrumptious lips aching to be licked and bit.
"Ugh. Do I look like a Trekkie?"
"What's a Trekkie?" She inquired from the realm of bewilderness.
"Star Trek Incels," I replied and rolled my eyes like a teenage cheerleader reacting to an oldcel pretending to be a teenage cheerleader.
"What's an Incel?"
"Ugh. T-M-I."
"And what's TMI?"
"Boring," I assured her as I walked away, but quickly, she rushed in front, obstructing my path. Oh, those tits jiggled into a settlement of chubby still.
Her hand pushed against my chest, containing me in place as she spoke, "I can show you how to time travel." My instinct was to bodyslam her then execute a flawless diving bulldog. But ugh, titter-titter, not so bitter. Eh?
"Okay. I'm in."
"One second," she conveyed stimulatingly, quickly stepped to the treadmill she was utilizing and reached for a glittered pink pocketbook from a compartment near its speed lever.
"Boring," impatience persisted. So I decided to omit and cruise to the locker room, and POOF! I was gone.
Well, not gone, gone. So I was inside the locker room. Ugh. But that door opened again, and it was HER!
"What the fuck is your problem?" saying as she raided the forbidden zone. "I'm now convinced you really are retarded."
"And you're violating men's privacy by being here." I guaranteed her with my chest out proudly. She hands me a piece of paper, so I read it. Duh. What else would I have done with it? Anyway, it was an address of a street not far from the gym.
"My home address," she gestured to the paper with raised brows. "I'm heading there now and will take a shower. Pass by in," she skimmed her Swatch and resumed, "thirty minutes."
"DONE!" I screamed like a raging roidster, turned my back to her, and proceeded to my lockbox—numbered 666. Ugh. And no, I'm not a devil worshipper. It was the only rental available when I joined the gym a few months prior. I'm not much into superstition and religious hexes, so the numbers meant nothing to me. The same nothing the Devil symbolizes.
I arrived at her living place two hours later and knocked on the door vociferously. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! Then I shouted at the top of my lungs, "This is the mounties! We have a search warrant!" And without much delay, the door quickly opens.
"What the fuck is your problem!" She whispered loudly in a frenzied manner and peered her head out—gazed in both directions of the hallway as several other doors opened with spooky neighbors peeking out as well. I cringed and thought to myself, Her neighbors are creepy as fuck. And nosey. She grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me inside her Oyster den. "If I wasn't horn-" she stopped herself and rephrased, "If I weren't sure you could handle time traveling, I would insist you leave."
"Ugh, tell me about it."
"And how are two hours, thirty minutes? Do you even know how to calculate time?" Sarcastically, she razzed my retardation.
"Yeah, and I'm feeling it's time to leave." And as I finished that very statement, she grabbed my tight hard bicep with both hands preventing me from departure. With wide eyes, she gasped at the sensation her hands were experiencing.
"No. You will learn time travel. But first, the fuel that ignites the fire that seethes time." She said and released my arm and proceeded to the kitchen, adjusting her hair in the process.
"If you say so." I felt an ominous warning of a sexual assault foreshadowing a gamey brew of lust. And the victim...would be me.
Half of an hour later, after a few shots of straight rye whiskey, we're in her bedroom, and she's lying on her bed in a short flower-patterned sleeveless cotton gown. She draws the bottom up, revealing a naked base. Shaved mutt, although bristled like a portion of a homeless man's neck after a quick shave in a fast-food restaurant bathroom. She opened her legs and glided her fingers up and down the crevice, then halted an index on its chimney. "Do you see this?"
"Yup. It's your pussy. I think."
"No. This part right here." She directed my attention to a small fleshy bump that resembled a vagina hemorrhoid by tapping it.
"You have cancer or something?"
"What the fuck?? No! That's my clit. But for you, it's a time portal. To enter the time continuum, you'll need to activate it with your tongue."
"Ugh. I rather get my dick wet instead."
"That can be arranged. Just take your clothes off and lay opposite of me, and as you work the portal, I'll wet your dick with my mouth." She then winked and removed her gown.
"Sounds like a plan, Jan." I quickly got nude and did precisely that. Eight minutes and forty-nine seconds later, after listening to her multiple gags and yacks and sloppy licking, my back's against the bed, and her vagina's grinding my mouth—she began climaxing. And simultaneously, I, too, started cumming. But nothing happened except an enormous rush of salty semen protein into her mouth and down her throat ending INTO THE BELLY OF THE CANADIAN MILF.
I was still inside her bedroom. Time hadn't changed. "Okay, something's not right here. Everything looks the same." I assured her something was not right here, for everything looked the same.
She swallowed, exhaled relief, sighed contempt, and said, "You fucked the time continuum! It's exhausted now. We'll try again tomorrow."
"Ugh. I sense you've taken advantage of my autism for your disturbing selfish orgasm." I declared my finding.
"I'll let you fuck me in my ass tomorrow that will activate a wormhole that you can use to travel to the future and retrieve lottery numbers, then back to the present and cheat as most Jews do."
"DONE!" I assured her with a holler and got dressed and left the apartment but accidentally tossed that piece of paper into a trash bin outside the front entrance of her complex on the way out.
I couldn't find her apartment the next day and didn't see her again in that gym. Perhaps, she got the time machine working and traveled to another epoch. Perhaps things were not what they appeared to be. Perhaps, I may be a future from a past she'd transformed, clarifying the confusion that baffled me all my life, thus a paradox soup. "Yummy, yummy," said Pandora, slurping a liquid from a miniature Kaaba.
"It is done."
"And why must that be?" Said Pandora as she laid the spoon beside the box and spun around on a barstool, now facing me.
"Because I'm a failure," I confirmed my finale.
"You are what you project yourself to be." She volleyed a fortune cookie printout.
"Too many assholes, too many liars, too much arrogance in this world of fabricated imagination."
"They project themselves to be such, for they believe this is as adequate as it gets."
"But why must they make themselves into a piece of shit?"
"Because their lives are bullshit. Their families are nasty thriving degenerates that don't deserve what they've stolen from good decent people. So they infect that disturbance onto their offspring that later exhibits such to the less favorable."
"Ugh."
"You live your life for what you're allowed." Then, as she stood up and walked over to the green screen window, she continued, "the reprobates will feast yet persist their creepy insignificant existence if you dare to push for more. Nothing must prevent their identities and agenda from prospering. Like tendering a garden, the gardener needs to know where the root of the weeds germinates."
"Fuck gardening. I buy my shit from the grocery store."
She sighed in defeat and acknowledged what I said earlier, "It is done."
I hovered over the Mermaid states and whispered a prediction of an event that hadn't happened yet to Pandora. She agreed with sorrow, then merged with the few clouds that overcast the desert. "To convince them they're not sleeping, tell them they're awake." I deplete my lungs and instinctively fall into the Earth until I'm back at its center. Confusion returned. Not sure if up is down and east is west. "If you lie consciously, you'll lie in your dreams." So I inhale and become the core once more.
Now if you're wondering what the first half of this story has to do with the second unrelated latter, ask yourself the following question. Does it matter? And if you answer yes...ugh, it's over for you. But if no is your response...ugh, it's really over for you.
However, if your retort is, "Wooka wooka wooka." Ugh. You're a star! There might be a future for you...after all.
...not really. It ended before it began.
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