- Sun Aug 10, 2014 9:36 am
#43698
Right between the eyes.
Again.
Grog has never so much as caused me to feel the air being disturbed let alone, "Cut me to the quick."
Grog on the other hand has suffered savage and monumental beat downs on this and other sites times too numerous to count.
The worst being, of course, from the object of his (and several others) most fervent desires.
I had no part of that one, but I was privileged to be able to witness it with awe and be able to report it here.
That was not only a beat down, it was a public humiliation of epic proportions.
Grog and his fellows chased this slightly more attractive than your average bowling alley barmaid Queen of Beer Farts and Anal Sex (she once confessed, on this site, and I am NOT making this up, that she loved to be slapped across the face prior to being fucked up the ass. This drove Grog wild with anticipatory desire) from site to site all across the interwebs, not having the faintest idea that all the while she was laughing and mocking them and causing them to look every bit as foolish as they were. They each beat their chests, ridiculing each other and proclaiming their overflowing testosterone, all the while not having the faintest idea they would never even get a chance to sniff the tire tracks of the truck that hauled her panties to the cleaners.
And she laughed at them, oh how she laughed.
Especially at Grog who has an insane desire to know the pleasures of intimacy with a hot Shiksa (or, שיקסע if you ken Hebrew. Grog, being a failed Jew does not). Grog, with his hooked, hatchet, ethnic nose, short stature and uncommonly unpleasant visage never will have that chance. Not with the Queen, not with Sara Palin, not with any Shiksa, hot or otherwise.
Ever.
But it never stops him from humiliating himself.
For this we give thanks. Grog in constant failure and humiliation is a joy to behold. Grog's misery is one more testament to the burdens put on his race for murdering that one so long ago.
She laughed at you Grog, you do realize that now, don't you?
She laughed at your pathetic attempts to impress and took joy in your pitiful pain. Ground the heel of her "fuck me" pumps into your face as you attempted to lick the sole and catch a glimpse up her dress. Too bad your nose got in the way.
Now go ruffle (as you insist, wrong as you are, inserting a noun where a verb is called for. And YOU a published author? I think not) your taffeta and try to imagine her wearing it. It must be stiff and crusted by now with the salt from your dried tears and the jizz with which you have soaked it. That's about as close as you will ever come to knowing her.
And remember the wise words of uncle Adolph, as read by your relatives so long ago as they passed through the gates:
"Arbeit Macht Frei!"
Inhale deeply Grog, it will end your pain.