A Priest, a midget, and a saimese twin walk into a bar. So the threesome (or is it foursome?) sit down at the bar, but realize through some stroke of fate they had all forgotten their wallets. All three - er, four of them. So the bartender says "No money, no booze" and the Priest says "Through God all things are possible, so jot that down." With that he unfastens his belt, his pants falling to the floor, and an erect, veiny, purple headed schlong flops out. The midget immediately grabs the shaft, taking into his mouth, and with his other hand starts finger fucking the priests righteous asshole. This goes on for about a minute, the patrons of the tavern now noticing the ordeal, their attention caught, their confusion and curiosity simultaneously peaking - much like the priest. He ejaculates in a fury, his seed flying across the air and into the open mouths of the Siamese Twins in two perfectly symmetrical dollops. This seems to have a crack cocaine like effect on them, so they rip off their clothes down to the bra and panties, as the midget removes his pinky from the priest's asshole, losing his pinky ring in the process.
The Siamese twins instantly shoot to the floor backwards, catching themselves on their two separately controlled arms, and spider walk like a two headed exorcist between the midgets legs and then the priests. The right head decides she wants to fish out the pinky rung from the taut cornhole with her tongue, while the left head decides to unfasten the midgets pants by snapping the button right off. The midget turns around, as the left head of the Siamese twins immediately starts tongue fucking his asshole. The door to the bar swings open, and 3 stray dogs rush in, wrought with disease and plague. (This is a period piece. In more than one way.) The dogs immediately start sniffing at the pussies of the Siamese twins. They rip through the panties and start lapping up the menstrual blood and STD cheese from the double controlled vagina.
One of the two Siamese twins dies from pleasure, going limp. Two for one, beastiality necrophilia! (I think that's a death metal band from Brazil.) Upon everyone climaxing in unison as the stench of butt sex, period blood, and diseased dog starts cabin baking the interior of the tavern, the priest lets out a sigh and says "Drinks are on GOD for...the Aristocrats!"
This post first appeared on Sweet Funky Freedom (Conspiracy Humor Blog), please read the originial post: here
