I sit beside the fire and mope
and listen to Hawthorne Heights,
and think of the times when I jacked off
to Denethor in tights.
Those times are gone, and so I cry
for that lovely stick
bulging out from sky-blue cotton—
his twenty-four-inch dick.
Never say that I was lame;
I know that you’d cry, too
from the joy of having your dick
stuck to his with glue.
Take me back to those days when
an orgy cost a dime;
stewards would beg for head,
then give it to a mime.
When day comes without the thought
of naughty orgies and fights,
I’ll return to bed and jack off
to Denethor in tights.
Author notes
I wrote this in Spanish class on 16/04/06 (luckily, la senora did not catch me ^.^) The style's ripped off from Tolkien.
And yes. I was deranged.
.
Comments
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hah I love it...and oh my word, if my thoughts don't constantly generate as well around fighting, fucking or a combination of the two which isn't bad either. Very creative.
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Pretty funny.
Oh well I am glad she did not catch you, you did it pretty funny.
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