JК
Ribofunk :: Филиппо Пол Ди
Страница: 122 из 156Also, some of the ids2 that
kids liked to use outside of schoolwere so ciccone or freddie that you'd spend all your classtime creamin' or screamin'.
So I was in my usual Daisy Duck, and Jinx was wearing Goofy, and the rest of the class was all cutesy bluebirds and dwarves, mice and fish, Pinocchios and ballerina hippos, all clogging the virtual lymphoid tissue of this ''important component of the reticulo-endothelial system" (or so lectured the tutor-turtle, whom everyone was ignoring).
Every once in a while, someone would reach out and snag a passing red bloodcell and pox it under his or her nose. We had found out the rusty smell could really bend your ladders like the best samogon or kompot.
We had been dissing our respective poohs, as kids will, when I had found myself spitting out my comment. I guess I didn't fully realize till then just how much my poohs had been quenching me.
Right on cue my best proxy, Jinx, spoke up.
Now, I mentioned that Jinx was wearing Goofy, but I should add that, having found out how to tweak the petafits that constituted his suit, he had retrofitted onto it an enormous set of black-skinned balls and dong. It was kinda sad, seeing as how they were the only ones he would ever have until he became an adult, but I supposed virtual sex organs were better than none.
So Jinx said, "Just how slouch are they, Arnie?"
"They're so slouch," I shot back, "that they make the Bogd Gegeen look like Siouxie Sexcrime!"
Everyone got a laugh out of that, imagining the eternal godboy of Greater Free Mongolia tricked out like our favorite teledildonics star.
When the hoots and hollers died down, Honeysuckle spoke up.
I've always hated Honeysuckle. Her poohs let her have these really glamslam Xoma tits two years ago, whereas my chest has yet to even bud naturally, which is the only way with poohs like mine that I'll ever get any boobs, short of turning twelve and becoming franchised. More than anything else, this was why I guess I had exploded and called my dumb old poohs slouch.
In keeping with her primary id, Honeysuckle always wore the Little Mermaid. Only she too had twiddled with her image, so that the doe-eyed cartoon transfection sported impossible macro-tits on which the seashell cups had dwindled to nipple-caps.
Now, I watched all the whychromes-including my very own Jinx-hang on her every word.
"That's because your poohs are Tee-Ems!" jeered Honeysuckle.
I winced at the dig. It was not something I could deny. Everyone knew my dads belonged to the Transcentennial Moderationists.
kids liked to use outside of schoolwere so ciccone or freddie that you'd spend all your classtime creamin' or screamin'.
So I was in my usual Daisy Duck, and Jinx was wearing Goofy, and the rest of the class was all cutesy bluebirds and dwarves, mice and fish, Pinocchios and ballerina hippos, all clogging the virtual lymphoid tissue of this ''important component of the reticulo-endothelial system" (or so lectured the tutor-turtle, whom everyone was ignoring).
Every once in a while, someone would reach out and snag a passing red bloodcell and pox it under his or her nose. We had found out the rusty smell could really bend your ladders like the best samogon or kompot.
We had been dissing our respective poohs, as kids will, when I had found myself spitting out my comment. I guess I didn't fully realize till then just how much my poohs had been quenching me.
Right on cue my best proxy, Jinx, spoke up.
Now, I mentioned that Jinx was wearing Goofy, but I should add that, having found out how to tweak the petafits that constituted his suit, he had retrofitted onto it an enormous set of black-skinned balls and dong. It was kinda sad, seeing as how they were the only ones he would ever have until he became an adult, but I supposed virtual sex organs were better than none.
So Jinx said, "Just how slouch are they, Arnie?"
"They're so slouch," I shot back, "that they make the Bogd Gegeen look like Siouxie Sexcrime!"
Everyone got a laugh out of that, imagining the eternal godboy of Greater Free Mongolia tricked out like our favorite teledildonics star.
When the hoots and hollers died down, Honeysuckle spoke up.
I've always hated Honeysuckle. Her poohs let her have these really glamslam Xoma tits two years ago, whereas my chest has yet to even bud naturally, which is the only way with poohs like mine that I'll ever get any boobs, short of turning twelve and becoming franchised. More than anything else, this was why I guess I had exploded and called my dumb old poohs slouch.
In keeping with her primary id, Honeysuckle always wore the Little Mermaid. Only she too had twiddled with her image, so that the doe-eyed cartoon transfection sported impossible macro-tits on which the seashell cups had dwindled to nipple-caps.
Now, I watched all the whychromes-including my very own Jinx-hang on her every word.
"That's because your poohs are Tee-Ems!" jeered Honeysuckle.
I winced at the dig. It was not something I could deny. Everyone knew my dads belonged to the Transcentennial Moderationists.