Time is a liquid.

Arthur Van Den Blastmeat

Time flows in your eyes and out your butt hole. It stains your brain with skidmark memories. It launches out your dik hole. And knocks down a lamp. When the lights are out it slows down to a misty dream of brunettes on bear skin rugs.

Arthur Van Den Blastmeat had a fourteen foot bear skin rug. It drove the ladies crazy. Read more »