Discussion in 'The Howard Stern Show' started by burger, Oct 31, 2013.
How many of you pay
I do. A lot of them. I'm a very successful land baron.
this is a serious
That was a serious response.
you must be really bored
Also, I stand to probably inherit more than you'll make in a lifetime. The Death Tax I'll have to pay alone on that will probably be astronomical.
to have money
fucking fool bitch
not as bored as a faggot
wastes all their time
having their brain owne
by smeone they
Show me the jealous. You can't, can you.
This dude's posts read like an e e cummings poem.
old age sticks
youth yanks them
i dont care enough
i just love hating on haters
This is a thread.
You just pwnt yourself.
i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
[TD="width: 100%, bgcolor: #fdc2d9"][SIZE=+2]Transducer[/SIZE]
The spangled bird of night descends roughly
upon her furrowed brow --
Well past her autumn, the dew has dried;
home has come the wayward cow.The falling bronz'd leaves
of the apocalyptic death, they dance
Your veiled, unquenched desert
death gaze flies askance.She steps quick to yon window --
O hold tight to the laurel wreath of youth,
The nightingale of Keats now sings only dirges
locked in so unholy a cage.The hunters and collectors of spiritual prey
swoop down upon the jungle night;
in the tropics are we slayed.The hazy mists surround her aging heart,
filmy shrouds dim her love-starved eyes.
Only Satan dares to clap; his minions leap and cavort
across storming skies.Stripped nude, the grapevine
of her budding loins anticipates
the Rasta disguise of the kaleidoscopical Mephistopheles,
who falsely pontificates.Her abandoned knitting falls to the floor,
revealing the fetid carcass of her horned love man.
A mighty darkness whistles.
Death himself comes soon to your land.She consults her crack'd crystal ball of sinewy flame
The Grim Reaper's scythe emerges forth
to slash her lame.How dirty thou art -- DEMON ARISE!
Robert Zimmer, Jr.
Frustrated I touch that spot , so dry and wet
I rub it until I'm satisfied
But I hunger for more
It still remains the obsession
It won't be complete until erased
I rub vigourously until it's gone
Ohhh....perfect all gone
I get out the vacum hoover and suck that shit till nothing is left
Clean as a whistle I run my fingers through the moist bristles
The grape juice stain is gone
it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands