Wild Eyed View of 71- By Clam Dude

This is no mistake that hares BIG SHITTER and CUM MAGNET included are getting lazier and ass-heavy lazier pound per found eat more tater chips than the legendary Sha-Mu the lazy whale.

Starting late on a Khau…KaHUna Monday run is not only bad but irresponsible, evil, devious, distasteful, outrageous, perverse and bad…very smelly dead-fish bad. How bad? Very angry grandma bad armed with a loaded shotgun chasing a saqssku…sahswe..shash…Bigfoot across the cornfield stealing her corns, get the picture?

Anyway, the Corbett Fish House was once a fish house in the early 1900s. A fish house is a house where fishes checked in for the night to rest for their long spawning trip upsteam…no, morons, it’s a restraw…rasta…it’s an eating place where they serve food with fish and fish chips that actually taste like fish without the after-taste of sawdust. It also served lager which means the beer taste nothing like your local piss is shipped in from the legendary European countries like Katmandu.

Anyway, the pack consists mostly of bimbos from out of town like Just Marlana, whose name I later learned when spell backward sounds like a sheep ‘taking it’ hard from Mystery ‘Pounding Away’ Meat. Later, on second thought, and many more thoughts, it’ so inflammably mind-blowing erotic…no, not Mystery Meat naked…ewwww.

Just Marlana preferred to cum by herself which is totally okay with me.

Anyway, Abba from DC, could be the tall Swedish hottie chick rock band member that once rock the world brought along her friend whose name I eventually erase from my soft disk for no reasons at all, came for their first Monday run…meet at the Corbett Fish House. Yes, it’s a resta…rawstra…an eating place in Johns Landing.

Anyway, the hares make a box…now who in fuckin’ hell cares about standing inside a box under a 90°F ambient room temperature. A box is a three dimensional object that when folded like an origami allows…should I go on?

Anyway, about 30 plus pussies and wankers taking a slow start toward the hill, apparently hashers are drawn toward a hill like salmons in heat going…should I go on and on?

I am purty sure this ain’t the hares work hacking down all the blackberries forming a path for where only morons want to go running. And a short while uphill Nice Snatch and Pabst found the beer check just below the I-5 freeway.

Restless is always at the beer check so Lion Queen and another chick whose name sounds like a traumatized Acropolis Pole Dancer going back down and found trail along the another well-hacked blackberry path all the way downhill as Snatch and Chum Guzzler again found more trail from there toward the riverfront to another beer check.

Anyway, Pabst Schmeer said this is boring. I know, I crossed the river like 10 times a day and that in dog math is a lot. If you see a guy paddle the river with a surfboard, life’s a bitch, bitch.

So, we sort of hang out there with the famous Dead Whore bimbo, Rosy Palm, drinking warm local piss by the river at the on-in interrupted by several mooning as the big boat full of traumatized grandmas and grandpas frozen by the deck. Mooning is an extraordinary technique whereby bending over to expose a pair wholesome ass waiting to do it is achieved with the removing first of the clothing covering the vagina as the partner initiate to penetrate…should I go in?

Anyway, Shoot Scores Zero RA for the day interrupted only by another artistic mooning technique by Cum Magnet. Is it hot or is it just me?

So, we left for the Fish House with Rosy Palm while Frigid Hole moaned like a whore all the way in.
BOX?? Who cares for box?

WM