Men In Tights Funny Quotes

More real, more there, like it's just the most incredible thing in the world that we're both still alive and I feel my chest get all funny and tight and I think, Here she is, right here, my Viola, she came for me, she's here- And I find myself thinking how I want to take her hand again and never let it go, to feel the skin of it, the warmth of it, hold it tight against my own hand...

When sleep came, I would dream bad dreams. Not the baby and the big man with a cigarette-lighter dream. Another dream. The castle dream. A little girl of about six who looks -like me, but isn’t me, is happy as she steps out of the car with her daddy. They enter the castle and go down the steps to the dungeon where people move like shadows in the glow of burning candles. There are carpets and funny pictures on the walls. Some of the people wear hoods and robes. Sometimes they chant in droning voices that make the little girl afraid. There are other children, some of them without any clothes on. There is an altar like the altar in nearby St Mildred’s Church. The children take turns lying on that altar so the people, mostly men, but a few women, can kiss and lick their private parts. The daddy holds the hand of the little girl tightly. She looks up at him and he smiles. The little girl likes going out with her daddy. I did want to tell Dr Purvis these dreams but I didn’t want her to think I was crazy, and so kept them to myself. The psychiatrist was wiser than I appreciated at the time; sixteen-year-olds imagine they are cleverer than they really are. Dr Purvis knew I had suffered psychological damage as a child, that’s why she kept making a fresh appointment week after week. But I was unable to give her the tools and clues to find out exactly what had happened.

I arched a brow. “Something funny?” Her mouth formed a tight line. “Nope.” I approached her. “You sure?” Her gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Uh-huh.” “Okay, then.” I turned and headed over to grab the last of our things. “It’s just . . .” Eilish began and then trailed off. “Yes?” She shook her head and finally let her giggles flow free. I couldn’t help smiling, too, even though I wasn’t entirely sure an inconvenient hard-on warranted so much laughter. It was infectious all the same. She gestured to the retreating group of tourists. “I studied German at school, so I can pick out certain words. One of the women commented about you to her friend.” I smirked. “Oh yeah? What did she say?” She dabbed the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “Something along the lines of a bratwurst big enough to feed an army.” My smirk died. “I wish I hadn’t asked.” “Really? I thought men enjoyed compliments about that . . . particular area.” “They do. But armies are generally made up of a bunch of blokes.” I arched a brow meaningfully. A loud burst of laughter escaped her, and she clamped her hand over mouth. God, she was too fucking adorable. She sucked in a breath, finally calming down from her fit of giggles. “You’re too much, Bryan Leech.” “That’s what the German ladies think anyway,” I deadpanned, my smirk returning. Eilish burst into laughter all over again.

For the fact is when men are hand, innocent or guilty, their semen, that salty white milk, falls onto the Earth and there are on that very spot we spring up... Why men should ejaculate in the throes of death is a mystery even to me. Perhaps death really is the consummation of life, or maybe it's the last act of the body desperate to bequeath a life that will go on even as its own is obliterated. But I like to believe it is a final one-fingered gesture of defiance at their executioners, the only obscene gesture they can make since their hands are tightly bound behind them. Whatever the reason, felons with their dying gasp impregnate our mother and so we, the mandrakes, are conceived.

You’re absolutely gorgeous! Hideously gorgeous! I hate to break it to you, Mick, but gorgeous men aren’t afraid of asking clever women out on dates. Quite the opposite.” “Did you work that out in your giant alien brain?” he says. Completely deadpan. See—not only is he gorgeous, he’s also funny enough to make me laugh in the middle of indignation. “No, but—” “Were there lots of equations involved? If X has a tight bum and Y has big knockers, do they intersect in column Z?” “I’ll intersect your column, in a minute.

For the fact is when men are hanged, innocent or guilty, their semen, that salty white milk, falls onto the Earth and there on that very spot we spring up... Why men should ejaculate in the throes of death is a mystery even to me. Perhaps death really is the consummation of life, or maybe it's the last act of the body desperate to bequeath a life that will go on even as its own is obliterated. But I like to believe it is a final one-fingered gesture of defiance at their executioners, the only obscene gesture they can make since their hands are tightly bound behind them. Whatever the reason, felons with their dying gasp impregnate our mother and so we, the mandrakes, are conceived.

Nico came up to me and started stroking my dick. Edmond shuffled behind to spread my cheeks. I felt his tongue probe my tight hole and sighed. This was the life. Three men vying for my attention. Funny, how only one seemed to grab it. I watched Justice.