Artisian Oven For Sale

Sorry ... I cheat the Tag!


Do we pack it! The trick in English gilt on the left is nothing but junk, scrap metal prices in a faux gold medal moving around the canvas like a boomerang madman, a usurped title of excellence ... in short, something as precious as silver paper around the chocolate!


Jack the pirate , which has seen moderate for my taste tags, or just because he knows it, requires me to participate in this crazy virtual round self-proclaimed excellent blogs (because yeah, our blogs are excellent, shit in the end!), and under this false pretext justifies entrusting 7 unknown information about yourself. It's a bit normal you might say to try to unravel the mysteries hidden all these great bloggers!

's true what a blog is like a small house. It makes it neat, we decorate, we filled it with notes and pictures, and as it is a model home, the door is wide open and waiting for a guestbook on the console of the entry note that visitors their impressions.
readers coming back to the desire and inevitably begin to imagine the owner, to search hollow words, according to fantasize sentences, to guess the watermark text.
But it is precisely here, the blogger simply scattered in these texts-like moving or funny or sad or burlesque or fanciful or serious or sensitive or cultural or analytical ... It's all him, more naked than if he walked around naked, it was more transparent than glass. He wrote "I" and swore that he composes a character and exposes secrets deep in the third person singular.

But the tag, remember Jack, Tagged brothel! It is not difficult anyway, you can play the game just once!
Pfff ... I prefer to cheat! Circumvent the tag on the left, the bamboozled, do send it collapses faster and languish in a crash of metal rain-cling-cling-cling dilicling (yes, it's fake medal !!)...

All I want is show me your eyes.
All I want you to guess in your texts.

And thank you to Jack for having inspired this post ... even if I shot torpedo sank the tag he had kindly addressed.

Kates Platground Wiki

Its oh so quiet. Little futile

A cone of light cut on the wall, ceiling projector screened. Beyond the picture window, emanates from the city a glow faintly orange, pale imitation of the aurora which splash in other lands. I live in a country that knows no the absolute darkness, a city with streets of bombed spotlights.

I passed the stage of painful raise your cries motivated by the desire to pretend that I do not hear you, leave the annoyance of warm quilt and torpor of the night. I have a little cold feet and tried to forget.

Wedged in a chair, listen to your greedy sucking accompanied little sighs of satisfaction. Your eyes do not leave me and your scrutiny could make me believe you think about some existential problems or are you trying to read my thoughts. Occasionally, hiccups disordered raises your chest and recalls that a few minutes away your anger was at its height. A tear remained attached to your eyelashes, little remains of your tears, glitter of water that eventually turn me into a marshmallow.

I funds altogether, and I do not care to become as sticky as syrup of grenadine.

The moment is common, banal renewed, I do not always see it with this intensity. I am sometimes distracted by wandering thoughts engrossed, involved in a conversation, absorbed in a reverie of some sort. This course, attentive, but caught in the repetition of daily life: preparing baby bottle you rocking to soothe your cries, listen suck ensuring the flow of milk, satisfy your hunger and ensure your well-being through gestures. Love is always present, attention also intend too.

I do not know why this night, however similar to others, is inhabited by a solemn grandeur . It seems to me immense and a density of velvet, a bit like when you realize the oceanfront of all possibilities of our existence, until dizzy.

You're so small in my arms, so serious with your eyes the color of the sea that seem to absorb me, so strong in your weakness, that I dizzy before this masterful drive life and happiness evident up out of breath ...

And little by little, I see your eyelids flicker, your body gets heavier and you sketches smile sated.

The city sleeps in full light, or can not sleep, I do not know. The city resembles a precipice decorated of Christmas lights, I'm at the edge and somehow I know I can not fall.

Restroom Masterbation

chronic back of the cupboard / 1

My jeans walking around on my butt with the nonchalant that it provides sufficient certainty to be an essential part of my wardrobe. That tells you whether a lease since it is the minimum!

It simply restore suppleness after every wash, which tightens a bit, and to skate like an old piece of furniture that blonde touches the fingertips. It draws its strength from the passage of time and softens, turns in the machine wash out, shots that straighten iron, rubbing that éliment. He likes old, wrinkled, past a hole ... he even likes it!

He notes with irony, the son of months, that felt or shrink sweaters, shirts with collars amounted, t-shirts that gape awry, the white drunk, pearly buttons that are lost, purchases heart that shot out of style ... This ride has finished to worry long, which he also marries well with a sweater with a suit jacket. He has a natural class that holds over the lot of ordinary clothes.

And you yourself do not be fooled when the jeans on the buttocks and inhabited by a feigned indecision I ask: "What I put my jeans?" You say, 'nothing,' s is perfect as it "...

What you draggers you and my jeans!

Bskyb Dg934g Port Forwarding

The dirty hands of Ali

Ali's hands are dirty. In dirt that he alone sees, which is resistant to washing, brushing, scrubbing and a dirt invisible but more tenacious than oil film drainage. His hands disgust Ali. He looks with suspicion, articulated appendages of flesh that fool everyone but not him.

The drool running down his chin, mingled with scraps of food or bad drugs dissolved. Saliva dry of mouth, we must rub a little clean. Dentures soaked in disinfectant solution, it must be viewed in the mouths parted and wet, among the remains of snags black and irritated gums.

Clean bodies, skins unknown, the bulges, wrinkles, sweat and sour, the excoriations, cut nails, grate the skin from your feet.

Sometimes shit dripping dark veins and draws on the thighs. The urine soaks into the heavy layer thrown to the bottom of the bag. Skin abused by bedrest crack, blushed, hollow, necrosis, suppuration, to eliminate as many secretions, day after day.

ulcers flow and pierce dressings.

Styling oily hair, wash their skulls covered with yellowish crusts, clean the comb full of dandruff.

is the daily hands of Ali, even gloved, well washed and rewashed, keep a memorial layer of dirt all day. And Ali does not see it.

Who can he tell his disgust? He, the caregiver for old people and little old ladies who expect everything from him. Yes Everything! The old do not care physician and the medication that they know now, are only retardants suffering and death. But what happened to Ali, who comes to deliver a night stinking, heavier layer bonded to the buttocks. Ali makes the water flow warm, that mass, which changes, umbrella, which installs comfortably, which applies a cream light fragrance on the cheeks. Ali, who wipes the slurry dripping mouths awkward. Ali knows that even the ladies hair like duchesses, braids or curls ordered. Ali, who knows any body in distress and which comes every day to redo that old age has defeated in the night ...

Ali riveted his trade in the guts. It feels good. They like his old decrepit as old walls that do not want to end up standing. He knows the value of an indefinable smile, a sigh, a thank you.

Only his damn hands to taunt him remember the price, betray his thoughts maculent of dirt accumulated the least of his thoughts. His hands are both evil men who whisper to him the obvious: "you stop telling stories Ali stops all conceptualize, whether you like it or not, we are in a mess from morning to evening, this is our fate, that our grief, where do you see the pride and contentment? ".

Ali has dirty hands.

Lizenzschlüssel Bpm Studio

Balades jaopnaises # 05

Sat motherfucker will you make money, chevy, and pizza
Sat
Rat bitumen salamander shit, bird of happiness

Samantha Samantha Oh!
At the end there that your kisses that take
Bitch suit of lights!
Oh Samantha!

Amazing, no?


Nb

U Do not Have 2 be rich 2 be my girl

U do not have 2 be cool 2 rule my world

Is not no particular sign I'm more compatible With
I just want your extra time and your Kiss

Brent Corrigan Movie Clips

The combination of hugging your breath hanging

We miss the time. It is close to never lie, feelings heart full of love and words muffled mouth full. So it feels smeared, nausea unclear, an overflow that would end up vomiting. We hate to throw yet. It seems that we will die, the intestines of love upside down in the bowl, a magma flottouillant sentimental silliness. But nothing comes. So we missed.

My mother moose clumsy, uncoordinated effusions that leave me banned and ice. His arms m'enlacent as they did not know how, still a bit rigid members that surprise my shoulders. Abandonment does not happen, I stay right, dominating his head, enclosed in thin wings. I patted his back to shorten the grip, or brand of pressure with my hand on my thin skin joining the forced embrace. I am ashamed. I would like to cuddle. I would become a soft Turkish delight. But languor was never part of our relationship. It comes at a time when I miss it more. Late. A setback.

The days of drama have left our bodies apart, as if frozen by frost, incapable of any impulse toward one another. Misfortune could free our arms as he freed our tears, he could have broken our silence respective domes. The misfortune has left us and the other one away on our sas security transparent, so remote, so alone.

As for the happy days, they gave rise to furtive kisses in effusions fragile, but our members are unable to express joy or pride, bogged down by lack of spontaneity, held by too much self-control.

It was missed, we miss, we do find more I think.

My mother carnal solitude is like a bubble tight impenetrable.

So I conjugate verbs: eat, kiss, embrace, support, câliner, caresser, se frotter, soigner, laver, serrer... Je conjugue à l'infini et au présent. En espérant n'oublier aucun temps.