looked on iin anticipation
Her dildo poised, ready
to block the backflow
âwhat a whopperâ said
St. Peter, looking downâŚ
Lol. My word â a great morningâs work, storytellers. 
Iâll use two asterixâ ** to denote where the story picked up from the previous update, to save reading the whole lot again if you prefer not to.
The Story so farâŚ
Once upon a time, Barry shone then died.
On arrival, St Peter, kicked off his sandals and cut his toenails; the clippings he placed (in) Paps arse for pumping.
Freud had (a) field day, where he left his castanets. âWhere are my Les Dennis nipple clips?â choked Buzz Aldrins daughter.
Hanging on the end (of Buzz Aldrinâs daughter), St. Peter tried to find an appropriate category to stick his halo; which was in need, as Halo is special. So says Mrs Halo, whoâs maiden name was Jones, which is lovely.
He found the perfect bed chamber for copulation and placed Halo there. A virgin for sacrifice, (an ancient heavenly custom).
Although well practiced orally, St. Peter was rehearsing for the return of Barry from his judgment; which as expected, he was looking forward to. Biting the pillow along with Halo, was likely.
They were soon joined, to hear Allahâs verdict, burn them in hell one option, purgatory another.
** Allah gave a suicide manual with lovely illustrations - called âBlowing The Infidelâ. Barryâs eyes started watering. Then he was howling âWho forgot the lubeâ as he blew his hash cakes, scattering flies and dung to the back porch, then left (to complete his sentence), heading back to Liverpool (the harshest of punishments). Keep your enemies closer then Stab from behind the velvet curtain (euphemism).
In the beginning was a gaping dark hole, which appeared empty but the light at the beginning of time was just Thomas coming down from his massive high. He had used Barry and left him broken - gagging, limping and sobbing. Deep in his cups the tears fell like steel drops from Llanwern, drops of metaphorical gism splattered and burnt the affair into his mind like immigrant Muslims exploiting (the) Horses of Ancient Troy. Riddled with alien diseases like Barryâs slack bumhole, it was presented to the world for probing. Barryâs arse was decimated. Contractile force all gone.
Slack Alice his sister looked on in anticipation â her dildo poised, ready to block the backflow. âWhat a whopperâ said St. Peter, looking downâŚ
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I wish I could
explain my twisted reasoning
but it looks lumpy
well smooth it Delilah
, with nasty spiked protrusions
That Cromwell used. Place
your hand on the
Dirty, ragged old windsock
shaft, and force itâŚ
thick end first, up
firmly home. Ignore the
profuse bleeding, only blood
but mop the shit
from his sweltering gluts