Tip tap toe...tip tap toe...take these three tapping tentacular throes on the tip of the tongue to the tip of the nose. Tip tap toe... tip tap toe...
There is no doubt about it. The moon does explode. I have seen it with my own eyes. But only under particular conditions - like good conversation for example. There is something deeply fortifying within the marrow of good conversation don't you think? Like Vitamins or Cod liver oil it nourishes you. I am talking of conversation where well lubricated words; mellow, rich and sonorous, are allowed to brew for a while in a teapot containing the three sacred 'W's' - Wit, Wisdom and Witchcraft. After brewing they sit briefly on the tip of the tongue to survey the plain before them. And then gently, without a hurry in the world, 'tip tap toe - tip tap toe' they roll off the tongue - like a spluttering Tank. Watch her eye lashes flutter amidst a barrage of your cadences. Do you see her nostrils quiver to the boom of your intonations? And her heart caught in a vice between Wit and Wisdom? And as for Witchcraft? Ha! Witchcraft will worm its way into her spleen and gall bladder where it will live forever; brooding. But remember quantity is not quality. Hitachi not always Haitachi. I am so funny.
Dominate her - that is what she secretly desires; though she will never admit it. Every utterance should be a bomb. A grenade lobbed into the sensual core of this creature you are wrapping in spellbind fetters. Sweep her off those little tiddly toes; against the wishes of gravity and her knees no less, and you shall be hailed a sorcerer of hearts of some repute. Why, Princelings from the kingdom of Caligula will flock to you for lessons and you will be feted by acolytes from the kingdom of the Sun God 'Atahulpa' in the high Andes.
Just as important in these matters of exploding moon is food. Oh yes - preferably something meaty. There is a primeval hole within her that is attracted to the idea of male bringing home carcass from hunt and slowly roasting under flicking fire amidst lofty Shakespearean sonnets. Really? Oh Yes. Wood fire barbeque's are a fire hazard so I recommend a good old fashioned oven with temperature settings and a timer - to prevent incineration of said carcass. Let the meat stew and watch her stew as you nibble away ever so gently through the fabric of that soft cotton chemise. Next step: apportion choice cuts from carcass, with plenty of trappings, and liberally serve intoxicating drink. Watch the juices flow (Not hers the carcass stupid). As for conversation topics? Not your usual tepid and wearisome prosaic tripe but hokey-poky leg-pulling variety with occasional references to ancient life form - Tiktaalik Rosea. You say: 'Milady, I hereby give you a gift of your past. I am a magician of history and in my palms I sew together forgotten things. Here I unfurl before you. Please take'. Watch her giggle-bubbles germinate and rise to the surface and then go pop! You are in effervescent heaven. She really likes you.
Tip tap toe...tip tap toe...take these three tapping tentacular throes on the tip of the tongue to the tip of the nose. Tip tap toe... tip tap toe...
How's the food you ask: 'Mmm, yummy'. How's the wine? 'Mmm, yummy'. How am I? 'Mmm, yummy' So there you have it. You're Mr 'Mmm yummy'. Someone fires a silvery moon into London's empty dome sky for it to explode in a flash of silky crescents. They fall on you like giant nail clippings in party poppers. See I told you the moon does explode. Sometimes.
There is no doubt about it. The moon does explode. I have seen it with my own eyes. But only under particular conditions - like good conversation for example. There is something deeply fortifying within the marrow of good conversation don't you think? Like Vitamins or Cod liver oil it nourishes you. I am talking of conversation where well lubricated words; mellow, rich and sonorous, are allowed to brew for a while in a teapot containing the three sacred 'W's' - Wit, Wisdom and Witchcraft. After brewing they sit briefly on the tip of the tongue to survey the plain before them. And then gently, without a hurry in the world, 'tip tap toe - tip tap toe' they roll off the tongue - like a spluttering Tank. Watch her eye lashes flutter amidst a barrage of your cadences. Do you see her nostrils quiver to the boom of your intonations? And her heart caught in a vice between Wit and Wisdom? And as for Witchcraft? Ha! Witchcraft will worm its way into her spleen and gall bladder where it will live forever; brooding. But remember quantity is not quality. Hitachi not always Haitachi. I am so funny.
Dominate her - that is what she secretly desires; though she will never admit it. Every utterance should be a bomb. A grenade lobbed into the sensual core of this creature you are wrapping in spellbind fetters. Sweep her off those little tiddly toes; against the wishes of gravity and her knees no less, and you shall be hailed a sorcerer of hearts of some repute. Why, Princelings from the kingdom of Caligula will flock to you for lessons and you will be feted by acolytes from the kingdom of the Sun God 'Atahulpa' in the high Andes.
Just as important in these matters of exploding moon is food. Oh yes - preferably something meaty. There is a primeval hole within her that is attracted to the idea of male bringing home carcass from hunt and slowly roasting under flicking fire amidst lofty Shakespearean sonnets. Really? Oh Yes. Wood fire barbeque's are a fire hazard so I recommend a good old fashioned oven with temperature settings and a timer - to prevent incineration of said carcass. Let the meat stew and watch her stew as you nibble away ever so gently through the fabric of that soft cotton chemise. Next step: apportion choice cuts from carcass, with plenty of trappings, and liberally serve intoxicating drink. Watch the juices flow (Not hers the carcass stupid). As for conversation topics? Not your usual tepid and wearisome prosaic tripe but hokey-poky leg-pulling variety with occasional references to ancient life form - Tiktaalik Rosea. You say: 'Milady, I hereby give you a gift of your past. I am a magician of history and in my palms I sew together forgotten things. Here I unfurl before you. Please take'. Watch her giggle-bubbles germinate and rise to the surface and then go pop! You are in effervescent heaven. She really likes you.
Tip tap toe...tip tap toe...take these three tapping tentacular throes on the tip of the tongue to the tip of the nose. Tip tap toe... tip tap toe...
How's the food you ask: 'Mmm, yummy'. How's the wine? 'Mmm, yummy'. How am I? 'Mmm, yummy' So there you have it. You're Mr 'Mmm yummy'. Someone fires a silvery moon into London's empty dome sky for it to explode in a flash of silky crescents. They fall on you like giant nail clippings in party poppers. See I told you the moon does explode. Sometimes.
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