In Egypt, the Land of the Animals with Dry Humps, a hard question popped up in the shadows of the obelisks that have remained erect through the centuries, despite being licked by the hot winds and caressed by the joyous sprays of sand from the heaving dunes. Tenderly penetrating the rosy veils of secrecy was vital, and to achieve a satisfactory release from the humongous pressure, a question was posted on a board on the internet; note that the board was not of the flat wood kind, but a welcoming, irresistibly pulsing society eager to please him, a succulent tower of knowledge, a shaft rising upwards towards illumination on a most important question: while skill with a delicate instrument in music is important, what about the size of the thing to be played with? Sheer, brutal, irresistible, sinful size of the powerful percussion instrument wielded by the oiled, muscled metal warrior? Was it the famous Stalin's Organ? Phil's Anselmo? Ford Fairlane's Stanley? The "bat" that Ozzy munched on? He waited for an answer, rigid with excitement, ready to lick the honey from the veined bark of the tree of knowledge, to frolic and brachiate like a little baboon with a red swollen behind on its powerful trunk and polished pink branches that never fall flaccid despite being handled by his calloused but tender hands.
But the curious wanderer looking for an experienced member to show him for the first time the joys of getting what he wanted was to be disappointed: the biggest dick in metal was the mod who locked his thread before it turned into a deep exciting well of knowledge to dive in and enjoy in the mysterious parts of the scene where the Sun rarely shines.
Well, fuck.
_________________ Chest wounds suck (when properly inflicted).
-Butch-
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