Fresh Pasta
Registered Member
The air in Kengle’s tiny kitchen was thick with the cloying scent of simmering beef. He stirred the pot with a wooden spoon, a greasy grin splitting his face. The hamburgers, a symphony of fat and gristle, bubbled in a broth of their own juices. Kengle, oblivious to the culinary sacrilege, patted his distended belly, a satisfied chuckle rumbling from his throat.
He waddled over to his ancient computer, its screen flickering like a dying star. With the practiced hands of a seasoned stalker, he typed out a message to Chris, the object of his unrequited affection. It was his fifth message of the day, each one a desperate plea for attention, for a flicker of reciprocation that never came. Kengle, however, remained undeterred. He was a man of unshakable conviction, convinced that Chris’s heart would soon yield to his persistent advances.
Satisfied with his digital serenade, Kengle turned his attention to the news. His eyes lit up at the sight of Nigeria, a country he seemed to find endlessly fascinating. He chuckled at the latest news, a series of bizarre events that would have made most people scratch their heads. But for Kengle, they were a source of endless amusement, further proof of his own intellectual superiority.
He then opened his blog, Onion Farms, a website he believed to be a satirical masterpiece. In reality, it was a garish mess of mismatched fonts and poorly written articles. His latest post, titled “Nigerian Mishaps: A Comedy of Errors,” was riddled with grammatical mistakes and nonsensical pronouncements. The only comments he received were from trolls who delighted in his pathetic attempts at humor. Kengle, however, remained blissfully unaware, convinced that his website was a beacon of wit and insight.
Suddenly, a booming laugh shattered the quiet afternoon. Kengle, startled, waddled to the window. Below stood a spectacle that would have made a saint blush. It was a cow, but not just any cow. This one was tall, muscular, and sporting a massive, pulsating cock that dwarfed the rest of its bovine anatomy. The sight of it sent a jolt of primal energy through Kengle, his own member stirring in its fleshy confines.
The cow, seemingly amused by Kengle’s reaction, let out another thunderous laugh. The air around it shimmered, and then, with a grotesque slurping sound, its cock began to expand, sucking up everything in sight: flowerpots, garden gnomes, even a stray cat that had been unfortunate enough to wander by. Kengle, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and arousal, tried to run back inside, but it was too late. The cow’s cock, now a monstrous vortex of flesh and suction, swallowed him whole.
When Kengle regained consciousness, he found himself in a strange place. It was a farm, sprawling and sun-drenched, filled with the lowing of cows. But these were no ordinary cows. They were all towering behemoths, their massive cocks swaying like pendulums in the breeze. And then he saw it – the giant cow from before, its eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and malice.
“Welcome to Onion Farms, Kengle,” the cow boomed, its voice a deep, guttural rumble. “You’ve been chosen for a very special task.”
Kengle, mesmerized by the sight of the writhing, pulsating cocks around him, felt a grin spread across his face. He was a man of simple pleasures, and this, he realized, was the ultimate pleasure.
“It’s always harvest time at the Onion Farms,” he said, his voice a mixture of excitement and giddiness. With that, he dropped to his knees and began to suck on a cow’s pulsating cock, the taste of bovine flesh filling his mouth with a strange, unsettling sweetness. His journey into the heart of this bizarre and grotesque world had just begun.
He waddled over to his ancient computer, its screen flickering like a dying star. With the practiced hands of a seasoned stalker, he typed out a message to Chris, the object of his unrequited affection. It was his fifth message of the day, each one a desperate plea for attention, for a flicker of reciprocation that never came. Kengle, however, remained undeterred. He was a man of unshakable conviction, convinced that Chris’s heart would soon yield to his persistent advances.
Satisfied with his digital serenade, Kengle turned his attention to the news. His eyes lit up at the sight of Nigeria, a country he seemed to find endlessly fascinating. He chuckled at the latest news, a series of bizarre events that would have made most people scratch their heads. But for Kengle, they were a source of endless amusement, further proof of his own intellectual superiority.
He then opened his blog, Onion Farms, a website he believed to be a satirical masterpiece. In reality, it was a garish mess of mismatched fonts and poorly written articles. His latest post, titled “Nigerian Mishaps: A Comedy of Errors,” was riddled with grammatical mistakes and nonsensical pronouncements. The only comments he received were from trolls who delighted in his pathetic attempts at humor. Kengle, however, remained blissfully unaware, convinced that his website was a beacon of wit and insight.
Suddenly, a booming laugh shattered the quiet afternoon. Kengle, startled, waddled to the window. Below stood a spectacle that would have made a saint blush. It was a cow, but not just any cow. This one was tall, muscular, and sporting a massive, pulsating cock that dwarfed the rest of its bovine anatomy. The sight of it sent a jolt of primal energy through Kengle, his own member stirring in its fleshy confines.
The cow, seemingly amused by Kengle’s reaction, let out another thunderous laugh. The air around it shimmered, and then, with a grotesque slurping sound, its cock began to expand, sucking up everything in sight: flowerpots, garden gnomes, even a stray cat that had been unfortunate enough to wander by. Kengle, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and arousal, tried to run back inside, but it was too late. The cow’s cock, now a monstrous vortex of flesh and suction, swallowed him whole.
When Kengle regained consciousness, he found himself in a strange place. It was a farm, sprawling and sun-drenched, filled with the lowing of cows. But these were no ordinary cows. They were all towering behemoths, their massive cocks swaying like pendulums in the breeze. And then he saw it – the giant cow from before, its eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and malice.
“Welcome to Onion Farms, Kengle,” the cow boomed, its voice a deep, guttural rumble. “You’ve been chosen for a very special task.”
Kengle, mesmerized by the sight of the writhing, pulsating cocks around him, felt a grin spread across his face. He was a man of simple pleasures, and this, he realized, was the ultimate pleasure.
“It’s always harvest time at the Onion Farms,” he said, his voice a mixture of excitement and giddiness. With that, he dropped to his knees and began to suck on a cow’s pulsating cock, the taste of bovine flesh filling his mouth with a strange, unsettling sweetness. His journey into the heart of this bizarre and grotesque world had just begun.
