Alas! I was but a mere trifle of a lad when the magic of nature hath burst upon the land like a fatty unto a groin of random location. Tally-ho! I think one shall find that even a spry tallywacker joke cannot hinder the wonder of the oncoming spring! Pee pee fezzywinkle! Thy heathenous cankles, which hint of an odor of yams feasted upon by sunlight in the dunes of the Sahara, do not overshine this miracle of God’s handiwork!
Ah, but when I was a lad, the thought of an oncoming summer tickled my lavish pornographicies, to the point hither where my testicles could drop – one, two, huzzah – at the mere mention of May flowers. Indeed! It was hence a matter of discreetionous content that has made the spring halt in my memory for so many score and years.
Tis thee a flower, or a diarrheanous mudslide of discontent? I choose neither, and instead climax in the corner of yonder tree fort with a handful of sugar. Oh, what diapers full of mischief we once were! Sweet, molesting, penetrating mischief! How I suckled at yon teet for many a years! But then, as if by an act of Jesus Super Magic, Prince Albert in a Can gave me a slap on the bottom and said, “Nevermore!” And I did as I was told, for word has it the prince is gayer than Oscar Wilde, which is to say he is to be gayer than a man with a thin moustache serving wine in crotchless leather chaps.
Stop smiting! Condescend through my fortress of poon!
Are my accusations so erroneous, or hath thee farted in a wind of ill direction? Thee are not alone, reader. I once screamed to the queen, “Does abbernathy become thee, fangled bitch of thy toilet kingdom!?!” I feared she had cast a spell to prevent me from defecating my joy of springtime through my loins. Alas, it was merely the apple dumplings I had consumed a fortnight before, combined with a slow spring thaw, that prevented mine own groinage from tingling. Her highness tallied a win that morn, but I soon found revenge, lodging a common swine from yonder barnyard into her whilst her monthly enema was upon her.
Fondled reader, why does thou not participate in the joy of thee finest season in thy land? Thyst work all day, then return to thy motorized home court to plop onto thy elephant of a spouse. When will thou bequeath thyself from such a trivial life and join my wiener in the garden of pink balloons? I fancied shagging your mother since I viewed her gargling lard in a vestibule outside my prestiged estate! Oink oink indeed, my little piglet! Soon thee shall merge with the foulest intentions of my underparts! Twiddle twiddle, reader! Thy biological mother shall feast upon my forbidden area!
Spring is upon us, and apologies and warm wishes shall not be turned until thy season of wonder has vanquished! I SHALL NOT be deprived of mine own glory! You, with your gigantic gams, you shall not stop me! I am forever a boy of springtime love! Hail Hitler and his dancing ponies! Dirty pillows of fartitudous remittance away!!