Kort eng spookverhaal

kort eng spookverhaal

It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases.
Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.
He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down.
The stuff you're digesting, doctor's call it fecal matter.You have to say something.Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt.Apuleus de gouden ezel, Geoffrey Chaucers, the Nuns Priests Tale, Shakespeares, hamlet, heel wat tragedies uit de renaissance en de gothic novels van de 18e en 19e eeuw.The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears.What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain.Dus haar vader wou de pop weggooien, maar de bak was net opgehaald.My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes.Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkstand, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier.So I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain.I swim up to catch another big breath.What doctors apple korting dag call, prolapsed.'Liesje ik zit onder aan de trap, Liesje ik kom je halen!'.It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out.Washington Irvings the Legend of Sleepy Hollow ", Edgar Allan Poe 's the Tell-Tale Heart " en, oscar Wildes the Canterville Ghost ".To conduct a little private research.
You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lamb-skin condoms.
Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool.