Kloriel versus tcpotbntmy
 

you saw his bags drooping and ya saw his beard lurking with all those wisened twines. But can he switch a terrible node or can he go screaming screaming beyond the next platform; even with a jetpack, even with this fueled assistance?

He probably can, he's seen a lot, but now is it too late; has he beard fed too many tourists against his own leppeling ego? Trosh Trosh; and a giant wasp: next is the stand up - next is the fire prone! GO GO GO, make it healthy &
sit down.

Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again. He knows where They have trod earth's fields, and where They still tread them, and why no one can behold Them as They tread.

The blood spilt upon the steps by your own obsidian tongues nourishes my wiskers atop the temple. You have yet to see the dawn through the trees.

"he stood watching, above the milling herbivores, already pounding the moss-grass into non-existence, so that that the grayish-brown gravelly earth showed under their hooves and above the hummocks forming the horizon two hundred yards to the south of the wall" -g. dickson

you think you sit alone but you can't see out the corners where on one side a salamander coils on the other - a gnome.

^ aberrations of the Hexvector (or in stone words Hector the Vex)

pay no attention to the man behind the curtain whilst a dagger penetrates your breast

fuck you here comes Uriel.

wizard curtains are for charlatans and drooping vaginas.

Once, among the Pleiads walking, Sayd overheard the young gods talking; And the treason, too long pent, To his ears was evident. The young deities discussed Laws of form, and metre just, Orb, quintessence, and sunbeams.

what you as bedazzled call wizardy I name science

we aren't here talk about your staff

and then a mother fucking dog (literally it was a dober and it went woof hoo haw) debunked satre and peeled the skin across dawkins' ass cheeks... which obviously made him a target for second tier predators on the foodchain; ie grad students in anything remotely theological or psychological.

fuck bismuth.

the new science is the art of null

peace against peace, silence against silence

science is the same thing as art isn't it? it is the fanatic intercession of average boxes of failure that make shit contentious. (ref. Patton Oswald)

But the new science is a natural science against the old artifice.

It is the science against science. I am the tide against the tide.

i don't get it. i see peace = peace; i guess silence equals silence...

are you saying against/equal are the same?

i like natural science. and i like tide against tides. i don't like dreams against tides.

I am on the unmake.

yr also off the profail

..http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR7V54EBkyk..

Klori-DOH! You like Naruto, except always in Sexy Jutsu, perpetual 'mo, cloud of smoke around your titties and your crotch fro, being so pretty makes you feel your dick like Fred Savage in 'Go,' you got more gay men around you than Margaret Cho. When you was a kid and you saw Donatello's bo you was all 'OHAYO!" with your tiny chiny chubby like one of them people that eats salmon roe. Not hung like Scott Baio.

Or Tony Danza. The Italian Stallion? More like the limp-dicked Jimmy Fallon, guzzlin' cum by the gallon, locker rooms, prison showers, and the latrines, you dilly dallyin', it's your halcyon, your heaven. Well from here on out it's Matthew Shepherd, 24/7. Devin and Kevin, you poundin' into their twin towers like it was 9/11. You be screamin' like Brad Pitt in 'Se7en,' "What's in the booooox?!!!" A dick in the box, nah, THAT'S your heaven.

More on 'Se7en,' you Morgan Freeman, in that you want more organ for free from men, you want to lay men, you a laymen, you're like a pool everybody already pee'd in, you past fisting you let them put their feet in. I heard you even reverse birthed, let them put a fetus in, you're cretinous, you're a deceitful mess, you use anal plugs for pawns when you're playing chess, you queen yourself, you a fudge-lovin' lowlife like a Keebler elf, you bottom shelf.

You're like a buddy cop film, two men back to back, or Battlestar Gallactica gettin' an Edward James Olmos face-frack, a little smack smack, then it's like the physical challenge, you got a face full of gack, all "O Romeo" with sack. "You run track?" Is how you pick up joggers at the piers, nibble on their ears, you like your men black, and with lots of head like your beers. You kneel before their obsidian monoliths, thinking you'll evolve like in '2001,' but nah you just got a bone in your hand, and perhaps one between your buns. "This is my rifle, this is my gun, this is for homo-erotic fantasy, this is for fun." Your cock-love burning brighter than the heat of a thousand suns.

Oh Kloriel, oh Kloriel, oh Klori-el, do tell, I see you reading 'Elle,' hair full of gel, fingertips got bunghole smell, always on blatino.com on your Dell, thinking of Clay Aiken in a in a cowardly lion suit and throwing another penny down the wishing well. Furfags can yiff in hell.

Hell. H-E- double hockey sticks. That rhymes with dicks, etc., etc.