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MOLLY & PYXXY DO CRIMES ~ Episode Two (train s6x chiken finger rave) // RATED X // Sybil Lamb //

Episode two

MOLLY & PYXXY DO CRIMES ~ Episode Two (train sex chiken finger rave) // RATED X // Sybil Lamb // 21.02.13 // 

Click here to read part 1          Click here to read part 3


MOLLY & PYXXY DO CRIMES ~ Episode Two (train sex chiken finger rave) // RATED X // Sybil Lamb // 21.02.13 // 

Molly & Pyxxy woke up 69ing. “We must have fallen asleep 69ing” thought Pyx, as she got right back into it and gradually in increments, 69ed Molly into consciousness.

Molly flicker blinked awake and smiled. “Well, Hi there!”
 

“Hulm-luh!” Squeaked Pyxxy from the end of Molly's morning wood and finger waved to her. She ground her crotch in mollys face cuz now that she was awake she should help with the numbering. Communicating in an increasingly private language of skin on skin they both understood that they were integral components in a delicately balanced yet robustly multifunctional 69ing machine. Imagining being a 69ing machine pulled the Pyxxy'z trigger.

A sudden mouth full of pink Pyxxy juice made Molly blow. An absolutely jizzy drenched Pyxxy crawled up to perch atop mollys messy torso, they made out like kitten cream bandits.
 

They might have post coital cuddle made-out themselves into yet another nap like they’d been doing a few days in a row,  but Pyxxy rolled over off of Moll and  plunged her foot up over the ankle in a just now discovered full to the rim  bucket of cold cum.

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Molly & Pyxxy Do Crimes // Episode one // Sybil Lamb // 21.2.2. // RATED X

Molly & Pyxxy

Do Crimes   

Sybil Lamb // 21.2.2.  // Episode one// RATED X                CLICK HERE FOR PART 2

The day after the last of the grey and yellow snow had melted so spring could start, this scrappy young androgeous kid with a green mohawk came into the waiting room of the art school health clinic where it was really easy to get an estrogen ‘script. She had her collar of her studded oversize leather jacket popped and shaved off eyebrows replaced with a pattern of little dots.  Some friend who went to art school had said an  old school SJW Trans guy doctor had recently gotten on their board and brought 5 trans guy nurses with him  and now they were just disseminating testosterone like a recruitment drive but also  giving estrogen  to whoever came in and answered 3 riddles correctly. She surveyed the room of the usual gender extrapolations with a look of attempted confidence. This wasn’t her first trip to the clinic! More like third.

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LILYBUTTERLAND.com

I Still feel that LIVEJERNIL is the Best Social Media Blog and is great for people who THINK LIKE MAGAZINES because they spent their formative years on LJ !

I Am Still ALive !!!

FIND MY ADVENTURES ON



wow that cut and pasted very baddly

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https://instagram.com/6ybillamb/


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How To Kill Queer Scum Properly (PART 2)

Her character and her very concept of self had been smashed and ripped out. the frontal lobe is the repository of personality. your very concept of identity exists in the frontal lobe and so does your concept of other like brains as yours as other peer conscious organs. The vaguely paranormal sounding studied 6th sense of something sort of inbetween the collective unconscious memes and reading auras. sybils got smashed in some weird way where if anyone tried to read her mind it would sound like a smashed guitar feeding back through echo. her brain does that when she walks in to the coffee shop. people can't read or remember what there where thinking and people having conversations start speaking more curtly and yelling. She can glower at the back of someone's neck from 40 feet away, the maximum distance she can see, and make them lose their mind and jump around screaming “what?” Over the next six months she broke her powers down to like 4 basic powers



Bionic Power Number one is the new skull.  It might be all fragile and delicate because they mail slot of a hole in her head big enuff to stuff a sunday paper in to cuz the newspaper was starting up again since Morteville’s population had been over 100000 a while. But what if it wasn't delicate? what if it was a headbutting tupperware battering ram?  with over a dozen screws all along her unflattering relocated hair line  and two really noticeable finger sized dents. her sense of self was smashed to pulp but her interests and her passions her view of the world and people were all still in here. Her character was gone but she found herself inferred in the remains of her practical knowledge and aesthetic memory ?



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HOW TO KILL QUEER SCUM PROPERLY (PART3)

The vain vapid dandy ne'er do wells side of the house brought Syb to the hardware store trying to get to to buy them a toilet for the west wing of 5Gallon cuz the drunk side had a really fancy toilet cuz they all worked construction and and pilfered stuff. they had 6 shower heads and a bidet and the west wing, where sybil had the headmistress bedroom was in much worse repair but wasnt missing any rooms like the east was. the wests bathroom was actually a utility sink. anything was permissible as long as it went down and stayed down the drain. they didn't realise until check out that she had no money, her Cheque cashers credit card was run in to the ceiling weeks ago and she didn’t even know how.

They let her wander out to the truck wearing a ratty nightie and little jean short cut offs, little peach fuzz growing in most spont around her jagged face removal scar. Wearing a bunch of hair clips to show off her face scar.Some dudes in the parking lot start laughing at her and yelling, "What the fuck are you? Are you wearing a fucking bra??".


Yeh like a blue leopard bra under a tea stain colored nighty her missing dead pet lamb humanoid  had left her, "Fuck you! You have a 40 bottle up your ass you jerk off, bitch!" Syb said. She was personally amazed that she really really didn't give a rats turd about .anything anymore. did you not hear me? “Stop lookin’ at my dick like a fag you want to suck it?!” she added saying the whole bit in a sneering sarcastic voice, sneering at the guy and and with her bad eye burbling around in its milky depths.

They kinda shuffled about looking confused "Hey what you say?" said the guy  twice syb’s size chewing on some uncertain dread here..

"I said I know you guys, you always at the gas station dumpster. I hear you suck dick for $10 !!"

They all had their jaws dropped looking and the faggot bitch with her face sewn on crooked calling them faggots? "Hey, watch your mouth! Don't be startin’ shit." says dude, he and all his mates circling in together trying hard to ignore her praying she goes away.

* * * * * *


The next time sumbuddy called her a "WTF is this fag shit" was at 3 months in a shore-side parking lot, she’d been in just cut offs and a bikini top and platform goth beach shoes from the 270s.

I chased that guy a block down the street screaming "yeh man, you the fag shit !! you the faggiest shit in shit town."  not like yelling or anything but just like walking at him and telling him he is a fag and laughing and smiling with her crooked face and a bikini.

The boy who lived in the room behind hers, the boy named Miss Lady Girl who happened to be a gay boy like a bunch of sybs friends and he attempted to have an intervention with her for running around trying to pick fights by calling people fags; quit perpetrating this cycle of disrespect and shaming language.

Syb apologized for the offence but she’s been desperate. The Fag-Shit guy has really seriously totally been screaming and running away from her.She had called the guy "the fag shit" and she was willing to pledge a periodic act of hopefully reparative atonement for pulling these stunts. And it wasn’t even her, but the fag-shit had started it. and i just felt so good to be running down the street screaming fag and chasing someone to hit them. It doesn't matter if you are even hitting them good, hit them more is better than hit them good. you need them exhausted

Syb know I'm bad and wrong for this behavior. She admits and accepts that this is sort of a re internalised autogynopbic self transphobia or whatever. I she could get ahold of the guy who knocked a slice off her her shed smash his face i with a tiny hammer, just like hers but she’s do it relly slowly with a tiny hammer to sculpt the breaks as close as possible. to make it fair even tho she is the only one who even brought fairness in to this. how was their first meeting fair ?

No Sybil was locked in to this plan because she strove for exact pound for pound justice. something to do with her revitalised vow to get kthulhu or whomever to talk to her on her Meth radio. Maybe she could do a lot of gay dishes or something. she had been dishwasher in a gay village delicatessen once a few years ago. she know the ropes.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Getting her skull broken open was easy, all of her memory blasted out and ripped away She remembers the faces of the guys with the pipe as giant thumbs with no faces.  It’s a little bit dumb not to have any one person to blame this on, but finding the two incompetent killers and caving in their skulls and crushing their rotator cuffs would be fun but without a confident match up she would just be terrorising sector 8 as a serial killer with a hammer.She remember her memory leaving, it felt like being in a station wagon that got hit by a speeding mac truck. like not a car anymore but the radio and the cigarette lighter still work?  Also since she’d be targeting only black guys in their thirties It could be easily misconstrued and look really really bad on her part and I would not want to tarnish the beloved and charming reputations drug addict squatter punks with vulgar tattoos northern trash usually were received with. You know what? Fuck squatting and cast all punks in to the central challices of hell, burn them all and use the heat to blow up every volcano ever until spitting lava ignites the sky. Make the whole sky a ball of fire and dry up everything and turn every living thing to cooked meat and leather. Housing is a privilege, not a right. Death to all Houses. Death to everything.


Syb would find a greater power and more clever key to pry the sky open again and demand the audience which  she had felt that she just been snubbed. She would hunt and harness every hate and wrap unspooled armature wire all over it and and make a scream that was a laser that would set the sun on fire and cook the earth. She would find sumthing way bigger than a goat heart in a peanut butter jar to collect the spite and fury and  piss in. From her blood and cooked meat and leather she would create a beautifully hostile golem to hold the demon she called to carry her right to the gates. She would tear the sky open and  It would be a lot  like getting hit by a car you hadn’t seen or slicing yourself across the hand with a box knife; if its bad enuff it don't hurt, your body has an automatic system that you can only hurt so much, there is a top limit to Pain. And if thats not really real then there is adrenalin which makes pain invisible for the first few minutes or even hours, so try to keep moving. Going into shock is your friend who cares about you so much it hurts. If her body was going to be in agony always how could it take really before pain just lost  its meaning. Kind of like if you drank a whole bottle of choklit syrup and after you drink down a like 4 mouthfuls it stops tasting like anything but sugar.


Syb noticed it first at the coffee shop and then again at the little grocery store that had just reopened next to it; her new look with the one eye and the obvious discount surgery way her  face had been sewn back on a bit crooked seemed to subliminally captivate and unnerve people a li’l bit. She had this crazy gnawing idea she couldn’t shake. How could she not have seen this before it was all so obvious, so vivid, so clear.

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try to remember where im going as fast as i can ~IGTB5

Try to remember where im going as fast as i can ~IGTB5

by Sybil Lamb on Saturday, 9 June 2012 at 12:38 ·

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i think its north of here

i go deeper in to the endless sprawl of the metropolis

not deeper downtown but up town an i get lost in neighbroods i dont know the name of

 houses small appartment buildings and little patches of 3 or 5 little sky scrapers moving together as a pack where everything else is less than 4 floors high.

waiting at a slice gate to go to some thing

all my vaugue aquaintences are hereall the people whos names i forget and hardly talk to but see every 4rth time i go out

im trying to remember what i was doing where i was going where do i live

enclaves on your couch in a rec room or a corner of a garage behind a van thats pretending to be a roomtwo or 3 or sumthing blocks from here is train tracks, sometimes its municipalk rail commuter trains sometimes its 53 foot containers stacked 2 high

3 high 4 high 8 high

trying to remember where this thing goes cuz i think i checked oncei think it rolls for all afternoon and then you jump off and its still mixed residential light commercial sprawli cant remember what those things with 8 stores joined together in a ring arround a parking lot on the corner of two major streets are called.im rummagiung through the garage or attic rec room or this place is in ambigious transit between being moved in to out of renovated abandoned or maybe its not even a real house.

maybe its a hastilly and cheaply cobbled together facimily of a house  to fuck with me and make me think the miscellanious city bits are scattered this dense forever… my android is trying to tell me 8 things but im overwhelemd to much to remember how to use it.noiyt overwhelmed, im refusing to try.im trying to go to the next sumthing. i had a plansome important person from my past is not trying to contact me. i made a mistake. i made a note on my phone to remember/ look at your pictures and remind myself what im doingill go back the other way downtown . whatevers on the train tracks, are they behind the convenience store with $2 shitty cappucino?  south of here is a jummble of buildings, pushed in to a pile, construction machines shoved all the buildings in to a pile so there would be a place of entire city blocks stripped down to assphalt and sidewalks and concreat dust, to be a parking lot for 100 ton brute machines painted in construction yellow. they built a chain link fence arround it all to close the 20 square block area in, theres lots of holes in the fence to sneak through. they’ll only chase you if they see you, they only care if your touching the yellow machines, they dont care if you want to risk breaking your bones and bleeding all over a pile of buildings slopped in to a a broken glass and crumbs of sheet rock no electricity destroyed office chairs 20 year old paper work and dead bird shit maze with graphitti not in any language just random letters for brute typography’s own sake and  fire exits leading to unrepairable husks of truck parked in offices with overturned desks holding shut doors leading to garbage filled hallways bathrooms with all the sinks and toilets smashed in to a porceline beach rocks and motionless elevators used as toilets

on the edge of some old couch in this rec room garage attic unfinished basement, shaking my android like a magic 8 ball, aquaintences with names i forgot  getting drunk and high and riled up to go do somthing fun/awful and im hanging on the stoop trying to remember if we can openly stoop hereand i think there is a road near by that leads under the tracks and then goes souith by going north west. it leads to where there is over passes caressing a 4 lane under periodic construction where the city turns to hills going down and then there is some mix of water and giant rocks where the canals either drain to or are fed from. no, thats where they start, its giant cement pipes that drain there.

i remind myself that i live somewhere and i try to stop trying to figure out where all my stuff is and pull my pockets apart and throw my android at a coat i think is mine and try to stop recognizing junk in this garage as having sumthing to do with me

if i can just interpret the clear and wonderful plan i hid formyself in a poket full of reciepts and scraps torn from different newspapers flyers and pamphletes im about to sum,thing that will reap me the glory and tear open the sky like the ass of your long unwashed skin tight 2nd hand jeans

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