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SQUIRT

Put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out…squirt!

What! I haven't spent enough this week?
What time will I be arriving to gather you?
Where do I plan on feeding you?
Ugggh.

Hey, I got an idea:
How about if I show up 3 hours late with a well-blown crotch,
Chloroform the kids, pour some whiskey down your throat,
Pin your ankles over your head and then:

Put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out….squirt!

Oh no….the phone!
You sure love to talk!
Say, would it be too forward of me to bash yer skull in with a polo mallet,
Spraying yer alleged brains outta yer non-functioning ears?

Oh well, just a thought.
Still, yer cock-chafed wonder widget beckons me meat drill.
I wish I wasn't controlled by the need to:
Put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out…squirt!

Balljuice trickling down yer tonsils,
A perfect occasion fer granmama's consul.
But out the box of the busiest beaver,
Naked and proud: deftly swinging my cleaver.
Shave your back, scrape the sheets, glue yer teeth in,
I'll fill your purse with a fecund excretion.
Mince your kidneys, nibble your thorax,
Tell the clean-up crew, "Lotsa Clorox."

Put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out, put it in, take it out…squirt!

 

C & P Copyright Chris Giunta 2011

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