The Vicious Day of the Cherry Bees?

A satire yet still exhilarating to the bits.

“Sofly Sire, the kettle’s fill is uncooked”. Ten extra minutes should add a snap to its crook, she thought. Although the hot suffer pour won’t quench them for their thirst, a mid-sized cup might still befit them to their best. “Oh, I swear the sun could teether from my nipple’s”, she muttered, clutching the trump. They kept on struggling as they hardly breathe in these poor moments of garlic-huff.

...Huff, and smooch, huff and smooch…

Even the evening socks reeked of fresh-ripped clam-butter, choked from an Irish gutter. Now we can see the climax of the scenes is to be founded on nasty liquors (as usual). But even the liquor found him lame and hers a wasted pair. Yet her only excuse was… “Scotch drink do bitter me much, Sire...”. Still, the kettle’s fill is less half only cooked. The insane melody keeps striking and stinging like a cursed soundtrack for The Sultry Bee. There was no other choice than to wait. Yet she is capable of nothing but long for more.
And more.
And more.

Each time was never nearly a joy. But the man kept calmly believed himself an expert of this state.” And you call it Fiesta in Italics, aye?!.” He ignites, a bark of ugliness wedded glare. But they soon knew, it was just anotherl slightly cool, idiomatic slit. Nothing different from a constant spit.

The dialogue ended terribly. There were no cutting scenes for this one. Perhaps all it needed was another low-blow jig.

But they crossed paths again.
Suddenly—
A hilarious met of taps, claps, and slaps hit the stage! A magnificent performance from the mistress’ rowdy act melted with the young prince’s Broadway charm. It was not much of a horror for an instant kill.

So you see—
On that last play, this very night…
She was the only one who shouted in stout!

Oh, Would you not believe?

And half a minute, half a second, half an eye lash to make before the final act was executed. The tape was secluded from its case. The black and white pilgrimage played moderate anecdotes on the screen. The curtain exploded in a shout and left the outstanding audience drooled with drooping mimicry.

“I have no idea where the story goes...”
“But an encore won’t seem nice…”

Then, Riot shook the hall like a raging typhoon. The fighting matador had even stooped for a peep… It was a cheap drama in a hoax tax-sucking cinema, yet the popcorn blend with excellent cheesy taste (they voted for it anyway).

But blood spilled in tremendous trails along the carpet. The warm stench of flesh exhaled from the showroom of ecstasy... We gladly presume that the main road would not be so exciting to travel, for now...

And with eyes wide open against this sinful odor. We chase ourselves near, like a pack of hauls, craving out from our frivolous existence.

Spooky friend, let us quit not while we snot.