The Art Dog - Food Bars
The cherubic nubile and her post - modern dog strolled down to the nubiferous pthalocyanine dawn on their way to the Rusty Sardine Bilirubin Bar - two salty dogshakes and a nemesis sandwich later ( total bill of 93 Gristle Juices)......
Violet mallards and biomorphic geese, shine in the obmutescent vermillion glare of their conception as the bashful picador lunges, streaks of good-natured blood seep through the Sacred Cow like the Prussian Blue cheese stuck in the rejoneador's armchair.
Embedded firmly in noxious green parrots are now the latest micro-reality visors, laserseismicophotological viscous stations of platitude and Malatestations of mesomorphic mongrels incast in conical heaps awaiting their saviour in a matchstick. How many (Los) Angels can dance on the head of a pin? Or feed upon their neighbours Pointillist dog; the Cubist dogs tasted of asparagus sausages, (thus all devoured), while the Surrealist dogs don't taste of Brie, but of honeydew melons, draped in ermine fur and travel by Yolkswagons or by Futuristic dogs pulling large Emu eggs.
The Fauve dogs in their pink pyjamas, live in the vicinity of Slimy Sol's Sodom Bar. It differs from the soporific salty slags that mooch around the Bilirubin Bar cruising for a few Gristle Juices, while slurping down their Vandenburgh reaction saltshakes - a far cry from Slimy Sol's Sodom bar, a place where a priaptic 12 incher is mandatory for entry as Vaseline, Sol's scuzzy spunk-mopper, armed with an ionized Catalan monk-mop and nitroglycerine octane fusionized roller-skates greets you with a scurvy smile. He also serves sodium pentathol steaks and syphilitic scrotum skins with dingleberry dip, glazed with Dada dogs salivatory mucus - the menu of the day.
There are finer menus in MoolaPrick Bay, only 2 more bars though. Gross Bill Greenbaum's Gothic Bar, better known as the Fungusarse Bar, where the quality of crudd served is an Abstract dog's eye mixed with its rectal worms (they sparkle phosphorescent cerrulean ), topped up with ten day old cockcheese from the Consctructivist dogs. The Prussian Blue cheese appears again, flying across the room in razor -sharp shards farted out of the cider barrel.
Fine food, but a limited menu leads the cherubic nubile to eventually spontaneously combustofracture into Jesus Flymo's Porcine Flagellation Station where mealy mouthed rectums serve up pig-puke pie with faecal determination. This is a Minotaur dive, no toreros allowed and free admission for the Neo-Geo dogs with their acrylic day-glo cunts frothing rainbow juices. Jesus Flymo is a true shyster, selling used condoms in all the dog flavours (61 Gristle Juices each ) on a stall propped up by his prick. His latest wares are aphrodisaic doughnuts, guaranteed to induce serious instant priapism and slobbering gristle grazing within seconds. He now cuts them with salmonella screwfaces and amoebic pus found in the rectal cysts of the Realistic dogs.
With so much business in MoolaPrick Bay, no wonder there was no room for Ornery Orville's Onanistic Orgasim Café - no dogs left !
Violet mallards and biomorphic geese, shine in the obmutescent vermillion glare of their conception as the bashful picador lunges, streaks of good-natured blood seep through the Sacred Cow like the Prussian Blue cheese stuck in the rejoneador's armchair.
Embedded firmly in noxious green parrots are now the latest micro-reality visors, laserseismicophotological viscous stations of platitude and Malatestations of mesomorphic mongrels incast in conical heaps awaiting their saviour in a matchstick. How many (Los) Angels can dance on the head of a pin? Or feed upon their neighbours Pointillist dog; the Cubist dogs tasted of asparagus sausages, (thus all devoured), while the Surrealist dogs don't taste of Brie, but of honeydew melons, draped in ermine fur and travel by Yolkswagons or by Futuristic dogs pulling large Emu eggs.
The Fauve dogs in their pink pyjamas, live in the vicinity of Slimy Sol's Sodom Bar. It differs from the soporific salty slags that mooch around the Bilirubin Bar cruising for a few Gristle Juices, while slurping down their Vandenburgh reaction saltshakes - a far cry from Slimy Sol's Sodom bar, a place where a priaptic 12 incher is mandatory for entry as Vaseline, Sol's scuzzy spunk-mopper, armed with an ionized Catalan monk-mop and nitroglycerine octane fusionized roller-skates greets you with a scurvy smile. He also serves sodium pentathol steaks and syphilitic scrotum skins with dingleberry dip, glazed with Dada dogs salivatory mucus - the menu of the day.
There are finer menus in MoolaPrick Bay, only 2 more bars though. Gross Bill Greenbaum's Gothic Bar, better known as the Fungusarse Bar, where the quality of crudd served is an Abstract dog's eye mixed with its rectal worms (they sparkle phosphorescent cerrulean ), topped up with ten day old cockcheese from the Consctructivist dogs. The Prussian Blue cheese appears again, flying across the room in razor -sharp shards farted out of the cider barrel.
Fine food, but a limited menu leads the cherubic nubile to eventually spontaneously combustofracture into Jesus Flymo's Porcine Flagellation Station where mealy mouthed rectums serve up pig-puke pie with faecal determination. This is a Minotaur dive, no toreros allowed and free admission for the Neo-Geo dogs with their acrylic day-glo cunts frothing rainbow juices. Jesus Flymo is a true shyster, selling used condoms in all the dog flavours (61 Gristle Juices each ) on a stall propped up by his prick. His latest wares are aphrodisaic doughnuts, guaranteed to induce serious instant priapism and slobbering gristle grazing within seconds. He now cuts them with salmonella screwfaces and amoebic pus found in the rectal cysts of the Realistic dogs.
With so much business in MoolaPrick Bay, no wonder there was no room for Ornery Orville's Onanistic Orgasim Café - no dogs left !
posted by Rundaas at 7:20 am
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