The end is not Grimm!A Poem by andrew mitchellThe end is not Grimm. on the table cold, look so neglected. What else is there? Oh! Yes! Running my claw down the her skin, soft. How succulent her breasts pert, the thighs so tender; just love the stuffing. Looking so nice not dressed in red. She lush, sumptuous salubrious,....... those imposing naked contours. While I famished, ravenous, voracious to some. Just weak at the knees. A toast I do decree To you Little Red Riding Hood It"s Bon Appetit! For me.
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1 Review Added on January 25, 2016 Last Updated on January 25, 2016 Authorandrew mitchelladelaide, AustraliaAboutStrindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more.. |

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