mini eggs

Sockface doesnt like eggs, they make it puke bile all over the faces of surrounding humans. Although the thought of consuming an under developed chicken fetus makes Sockface a sad panda, there is a type of egg it likes. It went to the shops today and used some pennies to buy bits of food. 'Mini eggs' are unlike the eggs of chickens, "What are these sweet delights, shop-man?" Sockface enquired to the friendly shop assistant. "Karl Shopman. That's my name. Call me Shopman" she replied. "Ok, Karl. What is this egg?" Sockface asked again. "I already tried to explain to you - I dont speak the english you retarded sack of scrotums. will you just go away and die?" Karl said, with her poultry accent. Karl was a peacock. She fluttered her feathers in disgust and continued restocking the vodka section, drinking every other bottle. So Sockface used its amazing imagination brain to work out that mini eggs are not squeezed out from peacocks. Or any other type of cock. Or vag. They are in fact processed in a mechanical love machine that looks a lot like a caterpillar.

Videoblog deconstructed

Sockface is getting lazy sitting on its cute little botty and not actually writing stuff on this, there, here imaginary webspace thing. Well Socky McFaceyface is going to facefuck you with his buttonboard to do that thing now.

Sockface went for a walk one day in December. There were plentiful people strolling down along the tramtracks in Flananabanfanbanangland streetroad park and they tickled each others ears, giggling like a bunch of dyslexic elf children. "I'm scared of penguins" said Sockface to a small pensioner lady, who picked up a spider and ate it. She had a shrivelled up face and sat on a plastic bench with her legs wide open. She said to Sockface "Young man, would you carefully touch my bloody scrape" and lifted up her dress, revealing her dusty vag. "No madame gash, for I am allergic to pubes" Sockface replied, whilst peeling a lime. Sockface swaggered into the fruit shop and picked up a packed punnet of plump pears. "Fiftwelve eleventeen please" the shopkeep announced. "I DON'T LIKE PEARS!" screamed Sockface, throwing the punnet into the face of the down syndrome child who stood beside him. Sockface ran all the way home, sneezed thrice and went to sleep.