A Summer Evening’s Stroll

The soft lull of dusk fell upon the quiet neighbourhood of Little Rockshire, the pleasurably warm slowness of a summer’s night descending upon the residents, compelling them to yawn contentedly in their cushy armchairs, possibly remarking upon their wonderful progeny, or pondering retiring to their soft beds. Mr. Bowdoinham strolled along Brown Street, gazing upon the voluptuous mounds of dog excrement slowly piling upon his loafers, falling in a steady stream of alternating chunky and liquid feces, the comfortably warm spray erupting from the enflamed and hemorrhoid-ridden anus of his shiatsu. He looked on with hungry desire, savoring with blissful lust as the drenching spurt trickled down his reddened forehead, converging at the tip of his callused nose. He grinned in anticipation as the congealing drop of liquid fecal matter fell from the hook of his oily olfactory organ, and he slowly lapped at the growing speckle with the tip of his parched tongue, shuddering in orgasmic pleasure as the slightly dry and acrid taste filled his mouth as though it was some sweet nectar lining the brim of the mandibles of a freshly-feasted insect. But alas! The pleasantly burning fountain of steaming filth sputtered and died with a final onslaught of particular potency. He sighed the sigh of a man who had just completed a specifically satisfactory wank, possibly to a second-hand snuff tape detailing the sodomy of peeled infants, watching, riveted, in orgiastic glee as their tender rectums were produced out of their pulpy anal-cheeks, ultimately spilling his salty seed upon the on-looking children.