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You grow a beard but our drool is identical. Forgive us, Father, for we know not. Today is November 14th, I live in Weston, Mass.

The pond is waiting for its skin. The pond is waiting for December and its Novocain. Anne: They were tired.

Interrogator: One day is enough to perfect a man. Anne: I watered and fed the plant. He'll stitch up the gren, he'll fasten the bones down lest they fly away.

I am flying today. I am not tired today. I am a motor. I am cramming in the sugar. I am running up the hallways.

I am squeezing out the milk. I am dissecting the dictionary. I am God, la de dah. Peanut butter is the American food. We all eat it, being patriotic.

Dog is out fighting the dollars, rolling in a field of bucks. You've got it made if you take the wafer, take some wine, take some bucks, the green papery song of the office.

What a jello she could make with it, the fives, the tens, the twenties, all in a goo to feed the baby. Andrew Jackson as an hors d'oeuvre, la de dah.

I wish I were the U. Mint, turning it all out, turtle green and monk black. Who's that at the podium in black and white, blurting into the mike?

Is she spilling her guts? You bet. Otherwise they cough. The day is slipping away, why am I out here, what do they want? I am sorrowful in November.

Toot, toot, tootsy don't cry. Toot, toot, tootsy good-bye. If you don't get a letter then you'll know I'm in jail. Remember that, Skeezix, our first song?

Who's thinking those things? She's out fighting the dollars. Milk is the American drink. Oh queens of sorrows, oh water lady, place me in your cup and pull over the clouds so no one can see.

She don't want no dollars. She done want a mama. The white of the white. Anne says: This is the rainy season. The kettle is whistling.

I must butter the toast. And give it jam too. My kitchen is a heart. I must feed it oxygen once in a while and mother the mother.

Say she is five seven-and-a-half. Say her hair is stick color. Say her eyes are chameleon. Would you put her in a sack and bury her, suck her down into the dumb dirt?

Some would. If not, time will. Dog, how much time you got left? Dog, when you gonna feel that cold nose?

You better get straight with the Maker cuz it's coming, it's a coming! The cup of coffee is growing and growing and they're gonna stick your little doll's head into it and your lungs a gonna get paid and your clothes a gonna melt.

Hear that, Ms. You of the songs, you of the classroom, you of the pocketa-pocketa, you hungry mother, you spleen baby! Them angels gonna be cut down like wheat.

Them songs gonna be sliced with a razor. Them kitchens gonna get a boulder in the belly. Them phones gonna be torn out at the root.

There's power in the Lord, baby, and he's gonna turn off the moon. He's gonna nail you up in a closet and there'll be no more Atlantic, no more dreams, no more seeds.

One noon as you walk out to the mailbox He'll snatch you up -- a wopman beside the road like a red mitten. There's a sack over my head.

I can't see. I'm blind. The sea collapses. The sun is a bone. Hi-ho the derry-o, we all fall down. If I were a fisherman I could comprehend.

They fish right through the door and pull eyes from the fire. They rock upon the daybreak and amputate the waters.

They are beating the sea, they are hurting it, delving down into the inscrutable salt. It was a little jail in which I was never slapped with kisses.

I was the engine that couldn't. Cold wigs blew on the trees outside and car lights flew like roosters on the ceiling.

Cradle, you are a grave place. Interrogator: What color is the devil? Anne: Black and blue. Interrogator: What goes up the chimney? Anne: Fat Lazarus in his red suit.

Dog prefers to sunbathe nude. Let the indifferent sky look on. So what! Let Mrs. Sewal pull the curtain back, from her second story.

Let United Parcel Service see my parcel. Sun, you hammer of yellow, you hat on fire, you honeysuckle mama, pour your blonde on me!

Let me laugh for an entire hour at your supreme being, your Cadillac stuff, because I've come a long way from Brussels sprouts. I've come a long way to peel off my clothes and lay me down in the grass.

Once only my palms showed. Once I hung around in my woolly tank suit, drying my hair in those little meatball curls.

Now I am clothed in gold air with one dozen halos glistening on my skin. I am a fortunate lady. I've gotten out of my pouch and my teeth are glad and my heart, that witness, beats well at the thought.

Oh body, be glad. You are good goods. You dig a hole and come out with a sunburn. If someone hands you a glass of water you start constructing a sailboat.

If someone hands you a candy wrapper, you take it to the book binder. Once upon a time Ms. Dog was sixty-six. She had white hair and wrinkles deep as splinters.

We were, at that moment, drinking vodka and ginger beer and there was a chill in the air, although it was July, and she gave me her sweater to bundle up in.

The next summer Skeezix tied strings in that hat when we were fishing in Maine. It had gone into the lake twice.

Of such moments is happiness made. Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of comfort, spanked into the oxygens of death, Good morning life, we say when we wake, hail mary coffee toast and we Americans take juice, a liquid sun going down.

Good morning life. To wake up is to be born. To brush your teeth is to be alive. To make a bowel movement is also desireable. La de dah, it's all routine.

Often there are wars yet the shops keep open and sausages are still fried. People rub someone. People copulate entering each other's blood, tying each other's tendons in knots, transplanting their lives into the bed.

It doesn't matter if there are wars, the business of life continues unless you're the one that gets it. Mama, they say, as their intestines leak out.

Even without wars life is dangerous. Boats spring leaks. Cigarettes explode. The snow could be radioactive. Cancer could ooze out of the radio.

Who knows? Dog stands on the shore and the sea keeps rocking in and she wants to talk to God. Interrogator: Why talk to God?

Anne: It's better than playing bridge. My daughter's first word was utta, meaning button. Before there are words do you dream? In utero do you dream?

Who taught you to suck? And how come? You don't need to be taught to cry. The soul presses a button. Is the cry saying something? Does it mean help?

Or hello? The cry of a gull is beautiful and the cry of a crow is ugly but what I want to know is whether they mean the same thing.

Somewhere a man sits with indigestion and he doesn't care. A woman is buying bracelets and earrings and she doesn't care.

There are stars and faces. There is ketchup and guitars. There is the hand of a small child when you're crossing the street.

There is the old man's last words: More light! More light! Dog wouldn't give them her buttocks. She wouldn't moon at them. I worked for this man in the shop he ran below the apartment, and I had agreed to go upstairs with him after weeks of what can only have been careful grooming on his part, following a sustained effort on my part to achieve what I thought was the ideal body size.

I actually felt flattered and grateful that he thought I was attractive. This was shortly before he tiptoed his fingers up the back of my leg one day while I slapped his hand away in peals of laughter, my insides burning with the warm glow of approval.

It was definitely before he took me to the pub and plied me with snakebites an odious mixture of lager, cider and grenadine that was favoured by the teenagers freely allowed to drink at seaside pubs in early '90s England , my tongue slowly turning bright red as Roger talked to me about his "frigid" wife.

She had just had their second baby and was, according to Roger, no longer interested in sleeping with him. He told me about the sex workers he visited instead, and I listened sympathetically.

It felt good to be treated like an adult. To be trusted with such adult secrets, to be looked at with such adult eyes. It was late afternoon when Roger invited me upstairs to try the Pernod.

The summer season was drawing to a close and long, grey shadows were beginning to wrap themselves around his living room. Up to now, Roger had been very careful to make me believe I was his equal and I had responded enthusiastically.

But alone in his house, the power imbalance that had always existed between us revealed itself. In many ways, I had been easy prey. I was a young girl with poor self esteem and the fervent belief that my worth and value was tied up in how attractive I appeared to other people.

I had done everything I could to make my body desirably small, and now it was sitting alone and vulnerable in a house drinking hard liquor with an adult man who was telling me I was "all talk" and betting me I wouldn't be brave enough to cross the floor to "give him a hug".

I felt ashamed, because I knew he was right. I wasn't brave enough to go through with what had been implicitly building between us. I was a little, foolish girl playing at being an adult and I felt like I had let both of us down.

It was years before I realised that what happened or didn't happen wasn't my fault, and stopped describing Roger as this cool, older guy who'd been the best boss I'd ever had.

The more I think about that period of time, the angrier I become.

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Tight Little Cunny Video

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Tight Little Cunny

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To view more of my images, of Felbrigg Hall , please click "here"! Felbrigg Hall is a 17th-century country house located in Felbrigg, Norfolk, England.

Part of a National Trust property, the unaltered 17th-century house is noted for its Jacobean architecture and fine Georgian interior. Outside the house are a walled garden, an orangery and orchards.

Felbrigg estate, originally home to the Felbrigg family, was long the home of members of the Wyndham family, since the first John Wyndham d.

Thomas Wyndham d. Later residents included John Wyndham — , probably the builder of Felbrigg Hall. The last Wyndham of Felbrigg was William Wyndham d.

A memorial to Richard Ketton-Cremer was constructed in the woods behind the house by Robert. In the latter, he indicates his health is failing.

Robert Ketton-Cremer never married, and with no heirs, left the estate to the National Trust on his death in Part of the estate was acquired by the Beeston Hall school.

Christopher Mackie, husband of author Mary Mackie, was administrator, or houseman, of Felbrigg Hall until Mary Mackie has written a number of books on their experiences, the most successful of which are Cobwebs and Cream Teas and Dry Rot and Daffodils.

At one time Felbrigg Hall stood at the centre of one of the largest estates in Norfolk. Today , the Felbrigg estate covers some 1, acres approximately 7 square kilometres of parkland including the acre 2.

Felbrigg garden is laid out in two different styles. The west garden is laid out in the style of a typical Victorian pleasure ground, arranged around an 18th-century orangery.

Accentuating the play between light and shade, its formal lawns are interspersed with areas of dark shrubbery. This garden features a number of specimens from North America including red oaks, western red cedars, and a meadow with a walled garden.

There are double borders of mixed shrubs, a herbaceous border, and more. The orchard has been planted with varieties of fruit known to have grown in the garden during the 19th century.

The gardens are home to the National Collection of colchicums. The Donkey or Ass is a domesticated member of the horse family, Equidae. The wild ancestor of the donkey is the African wild ass, E.

The donkey has been used as a working animal for at least years. There are more than 40 million donkeys in the world, mostly in underdeveloped countries, where they are used principally as draught or pack animals.

Working donkeys are often associated with those living at or below subsistence levels. Small numbers of donkeys are kept for breeding or as pets in developed countries.

A male donkey or ass is called a jack, a female a jenny or jennet; a young donkey is a foal. Jack donkeys are often used to mate with female horses to produce mules — the biological "reciprocal" of a mule, from a stallion and jenny as its parents instead, is called a hinny.

Asses were first domesticated around BC, probably in Egypt or Mesopotamia, and have spread around the world. They continue to fill important roles in many places today.

While domesticated species are increasing in numbers, the African wild ass and another relative, the onager, are endangered.

As beasts of burden and companions, asses and donkeys have worked together with humans for millennia. Traditionally, the scientific name for the donkey is Equus asinus asinus based on the principle of priority used for scientific names of animals.

However, the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature ruled in that if the domestic species and the wild species are considered subspecies of one another, the scientific name of the wild species has priority, even when that subspecies was described after the domestic subspecies.

This means that the proper scientific name for the donkey is Equus africanus asinus when it is considered a subspecies, and Equus asinus when it is considered a species.

At one time, the synonym ass was the more common term for the donkey. The first recorded use of donkey was in either or While the word ass has cognates in most other Indo-European languages, donkey is an etymologically obscure word for which no credible cognate has been identified.

Hypotheses on its derivation include the following:- Perhaps from Spanish, for its don-like gravity; the donkey was also known as "the King of Spain's trumpeter" Perhaps a diminutive of dun dull grayish-brown , a typical donkey colour.

Perhaps from the name Duncan. Perhaps of imitative origin. From the 18th century, donkey gradually replaced ass, and jenny replaced she-ass, which is now considered archaic.

The change may have come about through a tendency to avoid pejorative terms in speech, and be comparable to the substitution in North American English of rooster for cock, or that of rabbit for coney, which was formerly homophonic with cunny.

By the end of the 17th century, changes in pronunciation of both ass and arse had caused them to become homophones. Other words used for the ass in English from this time include cuddy in Scotland, neddy in southwest England and dicky in the southeast;[11] moke is documented in the 19th century, and may be of Welsh or Gypsy origin.

In the United States, the Spanish burro is used both specifically for the feral donkeys of Arizona, California and Nevada, and, west of the Mississippi, generically for any small or standard donkey.

Donkeys vary considerably in size, depending on breed and management. The height at the withers ranges from 7.

Working donkeys in the poorest countries have a life expectancy of 12 to 15 years; [in more prosperous countries, they may have a lifespan of 30 to 50 years.

Donkeys are adapted to marginal desert lands. Unlike wild and feral horses, wild donkeys in dry areas are solitary and do not form harems.

Each adult donkey establishes a home range; breeding over a large area may be dominated by one jack. Tis not everyday I take the chance to pimp my friend, and this is outstanding and I think people should see it and just for the sake of it, if he wasn't there, I'd have no flipping clue of anything so this is my way of saying thank you.

Cause Donal, if you're waiting for a dinner, you will die starving. The doctor bird or swallow tail humming bird, is one of the most outstanding of the species of hummingbirds.

In addition to these beautiful feathers, the mature male has tow long tails which stream behind him when he flies.

View On Black. If you would like to see some of my friends, please click "here"! Other words used for the ass in English from this time include cuddy in Scotland, neddy in southwest England and dicky in the southeast; moke is documented in the 19th century, and may be of Welsh or Gypsy origin.

Working donkeys in the poorest countries have a life expectancy of 12 to 15 years; in more prosperous countries, they may have a lifespan of 30 to 50 years.

The loud call or bray of the donkey, which typically lasts for twenty seconds and can be heard for over three kilometres, may help keep in contact with other donkeys over the wide spaces of the desert.

Donkeys have large ears, which may pick up more distant sounds, and may help cool the donkey's blood. Donkeys can defend themselves by biting, striking with the front hooves or kicking with the hind legs.

Does Daddy wanna fill his little girls tight little cunny with his cock and make all her holes his?? Almost looks like a studio backdrop, but it isn't.

This is the view pretty much whichever direction you turn in south central alaska. First shot: www. This locomotive looks like it has seen some years.

This series was taken at the Portage train depot in Alaska. Funny Friday, something to tickle your funny bone.

This is taken from our house at the river and I heard this booze cruiser from a little way off and got my camera ready.

I liked the brooding sky and so the boat was a bonus. When it finally trundled past I saw that it was "cunny kla nie" and could not contain my giggles.

Either the person who named this boat has no linguistic skills or has a wicked sense of humour, I suspect the latter.

It is a word play on the Afrikaans phrase "kan nie kla nie" which translated means "I can't complain". If you don't know what I am talking about you can google cunny.

I apologize if you are offended by this, just recording the moment. When I go to the river again I am going to see if I can find the unicorn, it may well be hiding in the natural bush on the other side of the wetland.

Thank you all for your kindness this week, Chloe is a little better but still not well. Poor little mouse, fortunately she has the most sensible parents.

Explore Trending Events More More. Tags cunny. View all All Photos Tagged cunny. The Jamaican Doctor Bird by Anthony away just for the day.

Description of the Doctor Bird The doctor bird or swallow tail humming bird Trochilus Polytmus , is one of the most outstanding of the species of hummingbirds.

Paddle Boarding at lake.. A Study in Brown by Xavier J. What is life, you ask. I give them both my buttocks, my two wheels rolling off toward Nirvana.

They are neat as a wallet, opening and closing on their coins, the quarters, the nickels, straight into the crapper.

Why shouldn't I pull down my pants and moon the executioner as well as paste raisins on my breasts? Why shouldn't I pull down my pants and show my little cunny to Tom and Albert?

They wee-wee funny. I wee-wee like a squaw. I have ink but no pen, still I dream that I can piss in God's eye. I dream I'm a boy with a zipper.

It's so practical, la de dah. The trouble with being a woman, Skeezix, is being a little girl in the first place. I worked for this man in the shop he ran below the apartment, and I had agreed to go upstairs with him after weeks of what can only have been careful grooming on his part, following a sustained effort on my part to achieve what I thought was the ideal body size.

I actually felt flattered and grateful that he thought I was attractive. This was shortly before he tiptoed his fingers up the back of my leg one day while I slapped his hand away in peals of laughter, my insides burning with the warm glow of approval.

It was definitely before he took me to the pub and plied me with snakebites an odious mixture of lager, cider and grenadine that was favoured by the teenagers freely allowed to drink at seaside pubs in early '90s England , my tongue slowly turning bright red as Roger talked to me about his "frigid" wife.

She had just had their second baby and was, according to Roger, no longer interested in sleeping with him.

He told me about the sex workers he visited instead, and I listened sympathetically. It felt good to be treated like an adult.

To be trusted with such adult secrets, to be looked at with such adult eyes. It was late afternoon when Roger invited me upstairs to try the Pernod.

The summer season was drawing to a close and long, grey shadows were beginning to wrap themselves around his living room.

Up to now, Roger had been very careful to make me believe I was his equal and I had responded enthusiastically. But alone in his house, the power imbalance that had always existed between us revealed itself.

In many ways, I had been easy prey. Then he left for Delhi 2 days later. I pretended to be normal. I never told my parents about him.

As year passed, I somehow became normal. Then one day, when I was 14, that jerk came back to my life. One afternoon, when I returned from school, he was sitting in my house.

He asked me if I still remembered the game. I ignored him and started walking towards my brother's room. He told me nobody is home. He pulled me towards himself and kissed my neck.

When the doorbell rang, he asked me to go to the washroom. When I came out of the washroom, my father noticed that I was walking differently.

But how could I tell him the truth? Like most websites AkkarBakkar use cookies, and in order to continually improve website, we collect non-personal data through cookies.

By continuing to use the website you are accepting the use of these cookies. To find out more read our Policy. He came home frequently and always got me chocolates.

Tight Little Cunny

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