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JazLyte
Queer black pulp trash cartoons & music. TV storyboard hooker for rent.
Making Kill Wolfy 2🐏🐺

Kalen Whitfield @JazLyte

Age 34, Male

Storyboard Skank

Hyenaville

Joined on 4/20/06

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Stinky Little Cross

Posted by JazLyte - August 10th, 2011


The world's a fucked up place,
but I live my life in a bubble of safety.
I've had little teaspoon tastes of the wasteland outside,
but nothing like the main course. No, nothing at all.
Yet still, I wear my tiny little battle paper cuts proudly.
I'll talk down to others who don't have as many paper cuts as I do,
then I'll pick up and carry a stinky little cross with pretty stickers on it and carry it arrogantly.
My stinky little cross is special, no one else has stickers that are as pretty,
and I'll tell you how the trauma from my paper cuts spoke to me and told me to put this tiny piece of stinky wood on my back.
Do not treat me as your equal,
I am not.
In fact, I'm better than you, but I won't tell you that because you can't handle the truth.
So I'll snicker to myself and others with stinky little crosses.
I know that you admire me when I tell you to shut up, that's what you want.
I know that you admire me when I laugh at your little cross, that's what you want.
I know that you admire me when I ask you to hide so that I can pretend you don't exist, that's what you want.
All the time you're drudging through my request, you're wishing you were me.
You see, we're all headed for the same cliff, and nobody knows what's over the edge... except me.
Knowing something never particularly made it true, but knowing is easy and safe.
The truth of the matter is,
while I'm carrying my stinky little cross, you are carrying a cross that's much heavier.
Your cross is me.
Your cross to carry is me trying to convince you to go become someone else's cross so that they will envy you as you envy me.
You do not exist, only I and He.
Now bend over,
open the book,
apply the lube,

and WORSHIP.

Stinky Little Cross


Comments

Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight the withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
It was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes tonight will be a memory too
And the new day will begin
Burnt out ends of smokey days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies
Another night is over
Another day is dawning
Touch me
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my day in the sun
If you touch me you'll understand what happiness is
Look a new day has begun
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
It was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again

Woah you have big weiners.. oh wait your black... it makes sense now :'(
Also your animations beast you give me a boner... a white boner .... aw

I looked up from my heaving breasts to see JazLyte glistening like a jizz fairy, a ravenous look in his black skin.
He licked his boner playfully, before getting on all fours and launching himself like a swollen dog across the room, landing in my moist lap and rubbing his soft eyes into my stilettos.
I screamed with pleasure, grabbing his chest hair and pulling him into my gaping wound.
"We can't go on like this", I gargled, his scent filling my nostrils.
"Oh can't go on like unthis" he replied, running his nails down my cavity.
He grabbed me by my lovehandles and pinned me down, grinding his heavy ballsack into my leathery flesh.
"Grind into me until we are nought but dust", I pleaded, my eyes swelling up with blood.
"And that dust shall become the stars", he whispered through painted lips, before standing up and spitting on my soiled body.
His seed still flowed from my many anuses, trailing off in rivers from my gelatinous form. I climbed up his toned basketballer's legs, gripping his ebony flesh with my many limbs. This would be the last time our foreskins would meet, before I would return to the sea, and my carcass would be eaten from the inside out by our interracial young. I knew that once I passed on, there would be others. But none of them would ever truly know Jazz, or the way he tasted on that first Christmas, so many moons ago.

The barbarian shattered the door to the nunnery
with a single blow from his fist.
Painted with a thick crusting layer of dried blood
(his own, but mostly of his enemies)
His every pore, his every hair, his every misty breath,
filled with an appetite that would swallow the stars.

The nuns. Shrieking in hysterical confusion... like tortured phantasms ...
Dashing madly into corners and caves ...

The barbarian stood at the door, a monolithic gargoyle:
motionless, with a ceaseless fury building within.

Finally, when the storm of cries had withered
to whimpering stream of shadow cloaked tears...

The barbarian took one step forward, and spoke...
His voice was deep, but soft ... and somehow echoed through the stone walls,
washing over every tile and doorway,

"Ladies of the house ...

... the Harvest has begun."

And with that ... he whipped his floppy junk out and proceeded onward.

life has no meaning...it just is.
it exists only for us to question it and live it or die by it.

You would put up weiners in your profile you gay faggot.

But I have to admit your animations are pretty beast.