Archive for the ‘Dracula’ Category
Officer Jim Sampson questioned Dracula that day on the school playground and concluded he had to cut the creepy little bastard loose.
Dracula can’t help but notice the seaweed thin booger flake waft from his right nostril onto his left index knuckle during his interview with Stone Phillips.
Dracula just adores the way lipstick emerges from the tube like a an Irish Setter’s penis by simply twisting the bottom of it.
Dracula salts his meat lovers pizza.
Dracula joins the ranks of the teabaggers, only to slip his hand down the back of their pants and slide his pinky, with it’s cocaine ready nail, up their rectums when they are otherwise distracted and pontificating on matters about which they know fuck all. They either screech with delight or surprise and Dracula hugs them into silence or unconsciousness.
Dracula cries for Argentina.
Dracula minces his words.
Dracula only ever addresses his crew with “you boys”.
Dracula takes his Corvette to Jiffy Lube and won’t leave until they wash and wax the fucker. At first they refuse, so he bares his fangs and whips out his python like penis.
Dracula really digs Blue Oyster Cult.
To avoid long lines at the supermarket, Dracula shanks the customers in front of him and piles his basket of cow tongues, frozen peas and presto logs on the black, ever forward moving conveyor. He’s sure to have his membership card in hand and all coupons at the ready.
Dracula is not above blowing a homeless dude in the park for some fresh puppy meat and a little crack.
Dracula cannot help but love the way he looks in a chiffon prom dress. A strand of pearls with matching earrings completes the effect.
Dracula shaves his chest hair only to find that his nipples are puffy and swollen and feminine.
Dracula can’t get over how magnificent his python like cock looks in maternity compression hosiery.
Dracula loves to shit himself while wearing said hosiery. He likes the way the moist wad of feces feels while he drives and the way it works it’s way down the backs of his thighs while the odor offends everyone around him as he strides boldly around malls and supermarkets.
Dracula doesn’t visit the world with a smile but he does always leave his front door with an optimistic grin. You can take that to the bank you fucking turkeys.
Dracula hates yams. He hates the flavor. He hates the texture.
Dracula loves prison. He really likes the solitude. When he gets tired of it, he just leaves. It’s good to be Dracula.