Thursday, November 7, 2024
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Dr. Masseuse

Dr. Masseuse.

I am a masseuse, yes I am
I massage your thighs like puckered hams
I massage necks, backs and chicken wings
Things that dangle, things that swing
But not the dong that dings
So don’t ask, ’cause the police I’ll ring

Just relax, except for your anal tract
I’ll work my magic upon your back
You may even fall asleep
As I massage you deep

Tension will melt away
As my digits dance and play
I dissolve the grind of your working day
You’ll wake up and shout ” Wahey! ”

And that will end our session
You’ll feel great
You’ll have learned a lesson
… Namely that,
You been massaged by a cat

Meow!

SonOfMonkeyPickles
SonOfMonkeyPickles
Nick Jackson was born in the UK, the land of gunpowder tea, but moved to America to escape exploding cups of tea. He now lives in Florida where he attempts come to terms with concepts such as how flat everything is and whether the alligator is a golfer's natural predator. Nick has written for Monkey Pickles from the beginning, as established in Cern, Switzerland, with the discovery of the long-sought Monkey Pickle Particle. He is somewhat "freaked out" by writing in the third person. Nick is motivated to write for the pleasure of the experience rather than to pay the bills, but he does recognize that pleasure is still not an acceptable method of payment in most respectable retail outlets. He hopes to raise a smile or two before being ejected from the store.
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