Spork Boards

Spork Turrets (no Sparby Permitted - create your own thread)

El Jeffe's Avatar Picture El Jeffe – December 09, 2007 06:56AM Reply Quote
finally, back to normal

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 12:54PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
From the dawn of time we came; moving silently down through the centuries, living many secret lives, struggling to reach the time of the Gathering; when the few who remain will battle to the last. No one has ever known we were among you... until now.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 12:55PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
We're all very different people. We're not Watusi, we're not Spartans, we're Americans. With a capital "A", huh? And you know what that means? Do you? That means that our forefathers were kicked out of every decent country in the world. We are the wretched refuse. We're the underdog. We're mutts.

Cloudscout – August 25, 2008 12:55PM Reply Quote
Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær!
Will you be our Big Toe?

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 12:56PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
There were three men came out of the West,
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn must die.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 12:59PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
Bad neighborhood, Snake! You don't want to be walking from the Bowery to 42nd Street at night. I've been driving a cab here for 30 years and I'm telling you: you don't walk around here at night! Yes, sir! Those Crazies'll kill you and strip you in ten seconds flat! Usually I'm not down around here myself, but I wanted to catch that show.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:07PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
When the demon form did come forth,
Enkidu fled from the fearsome face
But Gilgamesh did pursue and to him said,
"Enkidu two friends can prevail against one form, no matter the fear,
Let us back to forest go and defeat Hawawa one form again and again."
Enkidu did rejoice "Strong are you so stong am I, let us depart.

The one form they did meet.
With companion blows and wounds
Did they meet the howls, and claws and foul smells of demon kind
So in the end the demon fell, one of seven, to the ground.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:16PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
I look out for me and mine. That don't include you 'less I conjure it does. Now you stuck a thorn in the Alliance's paw -- that tickles me a bit. But it also means I gotta step twice as fast to avoid 'em, and that means turnin' down plenty of jobs. Even honest ones. Put this crew together with the promise of work, which the Alliance makes harder every year. Come a day there won't be room for naughty men like us to slip about at all. This job goes south, there well not be another. So here's us, on the raggedy edge.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:21PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, and they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone.

Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the Old.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:23PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
Let us cross over the river and rest in the shade of the trees.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:32PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit. Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American.

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:34PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
Aye, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon’s roar;
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her decks, once red with heroes’ blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o’er the flood,
And waves were white below,

No more shall feel the victor’s tread
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;

Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

John Willoughby – August 25, 2008 01:35PM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
Gather 'round, all you whorey,
Gather 'round, and hear my story.

When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his prick turns blue;
When it bends in the middle like a one-string fiddle,
He can tell you a tale or two.
So pull up a chair and stand me a drink,
And a tale to you I'll tell
About Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
And a harlot named Eskimo Nell.

When Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Go forth in search of fun,
It's Dead-Eye Dick that swings the prick,
And Mexican Pete the gun.
When Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Are sore, depressed and sad,
It's always a cunt that bears the brunt,
But the shooting's not so bad.

Now Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Lived down by Dead Man's Creek,
And such was their luck that they'd had no fuck
For nigh on half a week.
Oh, a moose or two, and a caribou,
And a bison cow or so,
But for Dead-Eye Dick with his kingly prick,
This fucking was mighty slow.

Dick pound on his cock with a huge piece of rock,
And he said, "I want to play!,
It's been almost a week at this fucking creek,
With no cunt coming my way!"
So, do or dare, this horny pair
Set off for the Rio Grande:
Dead-Eye Dick with his kingly prick,
And Pete with his gun in hand.

Then, as they blazed their noisy trail,
No man, their path withstood.
Many a bride, her husband's pride,
A pregnant widow stood.
They reached the strand of the Rio Grand
At the height of a blazing noon.
To slake their thirst, and do their worst,
They sought Black Mike's saloon.

The swinging doors they pushed back wide,
Both prick and gun flashed free.
"According to sex, you bleeding wrecks,
You'll drink or you'll fuck with me!"
Now, they'd heard of the prick of Dead-Eye Dick,
From the Yukon to Panama,
So, with scarcely worse than a muttered curse,
The fellows all sought the bar.

When Dick walked in to a house of sin,
The whores all cursed their luck,
Not even a tart dared let out a fart,
When he said - "I want to fuck!"
The girls they knew of his playful ways
Down on the Rio Grande,
And forty whores pulled down their drawers
At Dead-eye Dick's command.

For they saw the finger of Mexican Pete
Move on the trigger grip,
So they didn't wait and at a fearful rate
Those whores began to strip.
Now, Dead-Eye Dick was breathing quick
With lecherous snorts and grunts,
So forty butts were bared to view,
And likewise forty cunts.

Now, forty butts and forty cunts,
If you can use your wits,
And if you're slick, at arithmetic,
Makes exactly eighty tits.
Sure, eighty tits are a gladsome sight
For a man with a raging stand.
It may be rare in Berkeley Square,
But not on the Rio Grande!

Now Dead-Eye Dick had fucked a few
On the last preceding night,
This he had done just to have some fun
And to whet his appetite.
His phallic limb was in fucking trim.
As he backed and took a run,
He made a dart at the nearest tart,
and scored a hole in one.

The lady he bore to the dusty floor,
And there he filled her fine,
And though she grinned, it put the wind
Up the other thirty-nine.
When Dead-Eye Dick lets loose his prick,
He has no time to spare,
With speed and strength, combined with length,
He fairly singes hair.

He had made a dart at the next fair tart,
When into that harlot's hell
Strode a gentle maid who was unfraid:
Her name was Eskimo Nell.
But Dead-Eye Dick had got his prick
Well into number two,
When Eskimo Nell let out a yell.
She bawled to him, "Hey, you!"

Dick gave a flick of his muscular prick,
And the girl flew over his head,
He then wheeled about with an angry shout;
His face and his balls were red.
Nell glanced our hero up and down,
His looks she seemed to decry.
With utter scorn, she sneered at the horn
Which rose from his hairy thigh.

She blew the smoke of her cigarette
All over his steaming knob.
So utterly beat was Mexican Pete
That he failed to do his job.
It was Eskimo Nell who broke the spell
In accents clear and cool:
"You cunt-struck shrimp of a Yankee pimp!
You call that thing a tool?

"If this here town can't take that down,"
She said to those cowering whores,
"There's another cunt that can do the stunt,
But it Eskimo Nell's, not yours."
She dropped her garments one by one
With an air of consumate pride,
And as she stood in her womanhood,
They saw the Great Divide.

She seated herself on a table top,
Where someone had left a glass.
With a twitch of her tits, she crushed it to bits
Between the cheeks of her ass.
She flexed her knees with supple ease,
And spread her thighs apart.
With a friendly nod to the mangy sod,
She gave him the cue to start.

Now, Dead-Eye Dick knew more than one trick,
And he meant to take his time,
For a woman like this was orgasmic bliss,
So he played the pantomime.
He flexed his asshole to and fro,
And made his balls inflate,
Until they looked like the granite knobs
On the top of a palace gate.

He blew his anus inside out,
His balls increased in size,
His mighty prick grew twice as thick
And reached almost to his eyes.
He polished his dick with alcohol,
Then, to make it steaming hot,
He finished the job, when he sprinkled his knob
With a cayenne pepperpot.

Then he did neither start to run
Nor did he take a leap,
Nor did he stoop, but with a swoop
Began a steady, forward creep.
As a marksman might, he took a sight
Along his mighty tool,
And his steady grin as he pushed it in
Showed a calculated cool.

Have you ever seen the pistons
On the mighty C.P.R.,
With the driving force of a thousand horse?
Well, then you know what pistons are.
Or, you think you do, but you've yet to see
The ins and outs of the trick
Of the work that's done on a non-stop run
By a fellow like Dead-Eye Dick.

But Eskimo Nell was no infidel,
As good as a whole harem
With the strength of ten in her abdomen
And the Rock of Ages between.
With nary a scream, she could take the stream
Like the flush of a watercloset.
Now, she gripped his cock like a Chatswood Lock
On the National Safe Deposit.

But Dead-Eye Dick would not come quick,
He meant to conserve his powers,
For if he'd a mind, he'd grind and grind
For sixteen solid hours.
Nell lay a while with a subtle smile,
Then the grip of her cunt grew keener,
And a squeeze of her thigh then sucked him dry
With the ease of a vacuum cleaner.

She performed this trick in a way so slick
As to set in complete defiance
The principal cause and basic laws
That govern sexual science.
She calmly rode through the phallic code
Which for years had withstood the test,
And the ancient rules of the classic schools
In a moment or two, went west.

Right here, my friend, we come to the end
Of copulation's classic:
The effect on Dick was sudden and quick
And akin to an anaesthetic.
He fell to the floor, and he knew no more,
His passions extinct and dead,
Nor did he shout as his cock fell out,
Though 'twas stripped right down to a thread.

Then, Mexican Pete did leap to his feet
To avenge his pal's affront,
With a jarring jolt of his blue-nosed Colt,
He rammed it up Nellie's cunt.
He rammed it hard to the trigger guard,
Then fired two times three,
But to his surprise, Nell closed her eyes
And smiled in ecstacy.

She rose to her feet with a smile so sweet,
Then "Bully," she said, "for you.
Though I might have guessed that that was the best
That you two poor pimps could do.
"When next, my friend, that you intend
To sally forth for fun,
Buy Dead-Eye Dick a sugar stick,
And yourself an elephant gun.

"I'm going forth to the frozen North
Where the peckers are hard and strong,
Back to the land of the frozen stand
Where the nights are six months long.
"It's hard as tin when they put it in
In the land where spunk is spunk.
Not a trickling stream of lukewarm cream,
But a solid, frozen chunk.

"Back to the land where they understand
What it means to fornicate,
Where even the dead sleep two in a bed
And the babies masturbate.
"Back to the land of the grinding gland,
Where the walrus plays with his prong,
Where the polar bear wanks off in his lair,
That's where they'll sing this song.

"They'll tell this tale on the Arctic trail
Where the nights are sixty below,
Where it's so damn cold the jonnies are sold
Wrapped up in a ball of snow.
"In the Valley of Death with baited breath,
That's where they'll sing it too,
Where the skeletons rattle in sexual battle
And the rotting corpses screw.

"Back to the land where men are Men,
I'll say 'Terra Bellicum,'
And there I'll spend my worthy end,
For the North is calling: 'Come!'"
Then Dead-Eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Slunk away from the Rio Grande,
Dead-Eye Dick with his useless prick,
And Pete with no gun in his hand.

When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the tip of his prick turns blue,
And the hole in the middle refuses to piddle,
I'd say he was fucked, wouldn't you?

tomierna (Admin) – August 25, 2008 04:04PM Reply Quote
Hideously Unnatural
ENCORE!

Cloudscout – August 25, 2008 05:27PM Reply Quote
Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær!
PWEI

ghidorah – September 05, 2008 12:58AM Reply Quote
Raise taxes on cavemen. --jw
Clbuttic

John Willoughby – September 05, 2008 06:43AM Reply Quote
Cyberdyne Systems Customer Support
One doesn't often find excerpts from the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Necronomicon, and the Ballad of Eskimo Nell in the same thread.

Madaracs – September 09, 2008 06:21AM Reply Quote
Ooh! Scary! Scary! Don't we look mean? You can't see me! But I can see you!
White noise.

tomierna (Admin) – September 09, 2008 06:22AM Reply Quote
Hideously Unnatural
Pink noise.

Madaracs – September 09, 2008 06:24AM Reply Quote
Ooh! Scary! Scary! Don't we look mean? You can't see me! But I can see you!
Brown note?

Cloudscout – September 09, 2008 06:51AM Reply Quote
Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær!
What can Brown do for you?

Sorry, only registered users may post in this forum.

Click here to login