Grannum Panties Gallery Porn
🛑 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻
Grannum Panties Gallery Porn
Visit the new sex.com
CloseBold
Videos
Videos
Pics
GIFs
Boards
Users
Mr Porn Geek
Login
Sign Up!
About us
How it Works
Etiquette
Terms of Use
Privacy
DMCA
2257 Compliance
Help
Advertise
العربية
Deutsch
English
Español
Français
Italiano
Polski
Português
Русский
Регистрация, использование или доступ к Платформе лицами, не достигшими восемнадцати (18) лет, является незаконным и нарушает наши Условия пользования.
Do you really want to leave Sex.com?
© 2022 Sex.com
- About us
- How it Works
- Etiquette
- Terms of Use
- Privacy
- DMCA
- 2257
- Help
- Advertise
Click "Go to Site" to see the original site, or click "Cancel" to close this dialog and go back to Sex.com
6 min Grandma Friends - 770.5k Views -
6 min Grandma Friends - 11.7k Views -
6 min Grandma Friends - 13k Views -
17 min Julia Content - 129.3k Views -
38 min Onlycougars Com - 212.7k Views -
8 min Ms Paris Rose - 1.5M Views -
6 min Grandma Friends - 646k Views -
26 min Sally D'Angelo - 3.5M Views -
6 min Grandma Friends - 26.3k Views -
6 min Grandma Friends - 28.1k Views -
6 min Grandma Friends - 148.8k Views -
10 min Maturexxxslut - 1.2M Views -
22 min Scout69 Com - 391.9k Views -
15 min Cheeky Ladies - 111.8k Views -
11 min Ms Paris Rose - 830.2k Views -
XVideos.com - the best free porn videos on internet, 100% free.
View all All Photos Tagged ugly granny
SmugMug + Flickr .
Connecting people through photography.
About
Jobs
Blog
Developers
Guidelines
Report abuse
Privacy
Terms
Help forum
English
SmugMug + Flickr .
Connecting people through photography.
Once upon a time, when I was still doing a lot of traveling in this state, I met a woman named Eulogia Espinosa. She lived in the town of Catarina, down close to the Rio Grande, between Laredo and Eagle Pass.
We talked about the weather, and about some young palm trees she was planting, and about the pronunciation of her Spanish given name.
The name came out of her like this: Eh-oo-LO-hee-ah.
See if you can pronounce it several times. Eh-oo-LO-hee-ah. Eh-oo-LO-hee-ah. Eh-oo-LO-hee-ah. It becomes a sort of chant. I loved the sound and the flow of it.
The sight of Eulogia Espinosa, standing beside Highway 83 patiently pronouncing her name for a stranger, has stayed with me for a lot of years.
Here's what turned that experience into a memory: If I had run across the name Eulogia in the Houston phone book, I'd have given it a gringo read and pronounced it yew-LO-gee-uh, turning a beautiful word into an ugly word.
from SOME WORDS JUST DON'T ROLL OFF THE TONGUE WELL -- the rest of the article can be found at:
I finished the cover for the ugly rattan stool I bought years ago at IKEA.
I actually wanted to pretend that die Hase (or how we call her: the Hezlein) likes sitting on the stool but I have to admit that she just sat still because of the treat I gave her.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas.
To forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you;
To ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world;
To put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground;
To see that men and women are just as real as you are, and try to look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy;
To own up to the fact that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life;
To close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness.
Are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.
To stoop down and consider the needs and desires of little children;
To remember the weakness and loneliness of people growing old;
To stop asking how much your friends love you, and ask yourself whether you love them enough;
To bear in mind the things that other people have to bear in their hearts;
To try to understand what those who live in the same home with you really want, without waiting for them to tell you;
To trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front so that your shadow will fall behind you;
To make a grave for your ugly thoughts, and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open—
Are you willing to do these things, even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.
To believe that love is the strongest thing in the world—
Stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death—
And that the blessed life which began in Bethlehem nineteen hundred years ago is the image and brightness of the Eternal Love?
And if you can keep it for a day, why not always?
NY: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1924 and 1952.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The in-laws are waiting the games have begun
The cell phone keeps ringing 'don't answer it hon'
The whole thing's arranged just to aggravate Dad
And it's amateur day on the old super slab
The kids are strapped down like a half load of pipe
All safe in their car seats they fuss and they gripe
Well you can't hardly blame 'em it must be a bitch
Counting the crosses off down in the ditch
This one's got flowers, this one's got a wreath
This one's got a name painted down underneath
Was the road all iced up, were they going too fast
Here's five in a circle left from the last holiday
There's a three-trailer rig just a throwin' up spray
Not legal to run on this kind of a day
But god damn the smokies and the four wheelers too
Stay offa my bumpers or the same goes for you
As he hauls it on out to the Oregon coast
No turkey no gravy no Zinfandel wine
You just stay over right and we'll get along fine
He's missing the football, missing the fun
He'd play with the grandkids but he's off on a run
And some hat's on the radio singing his song
But she's got 'em all gathered now under one roof
Did you hear about Ellen, she's leaving, you know
How 'bout those Packers, think it'll snow?
And the minute it's over they'll scatter like quail
Off down the freeway in the teeth of a gale
He just lets it run down to soften the stain
In clean desert camo all baggy and loose
Sits an Iowa Guardsman alone by the gate
The place sure looked different, in 1968
When he traveled with mom, first time on a plane
To visit some kin, he's forgotten their names
But he remembers the soldiers, still in their teens
In their spit polished boots and their pressed army greens
With the creases so sharp, and their faces so smooth
But their eyes looked so heavy, he wondered how they could move
Now he's got that same look, like his insides are black
He's in his mid forties and he has to go back
And he can't even smoke while he waits for his plane
The uniform's different, but the mission remains
To do like they tell you, don't make a fuss
Why's not an issue, so don't think too much
You just do what you have to, shut up and drive
If you come apart later, well at least you're alive
You can get you some help, you can deal with it then
And life will be better, 'til it happens again
'Cause there's something inside us that won't let us be
In stalks through our days 'til it's too dark to see
And it's damn near as deadly as Texans on ice
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Be Safe People & Wear The Fucking Mask!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
this is from my art series named: "Jokers, fools, Freaks, Mutants and other humanoid Creatures"
This one is Goes by the name: "an agin disillusioned Britannia Walks undercover as a bag-lady in Soho and is really an agent working for dark forces unknown to us according to the all-knowing polarized Cave Canem"
the Medium ballpoint and acrylic paint and more on colored paper
in the sweet golden hours of the Day
or by the sultry licking light of the Moon’s night
“Horse britches”, my father called them
An audible caustic note to the phrase
Sunny days with the clothes strung out on the line
Wide swathes of bright white fabric
we all knew graced our Mother’s body
My fathers derision of the “frumpiness” of such things,
The addition of the word “horse” in a sentence
leaving me walking the impossible tightrope my Father had strung for me
to think of all the years my Mother must have spent
believing herself to be a ‘granny’ in her panties
All the sacred feminine magic that was lost to my father
...another pic of the old charming industrial complexes being torn down to make way for a plastic new Malmö, ashamed of it´s industrial past!
-------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
Hello Maud you lovely old fart of mine!
I am so happy that you actually read the last Chapter of "das roman" Yes I know I spell like a crow without any logic!
So just jump all spelling errors because I can´t write a sentence in Swedish, English or Danish and get all the words right, I blame my troublesome (or totally chaotic) six fist year in school for my total lack of coherent spelling...
actually my national tests in Swedish always came with the Highest grade on story and language and lowest grade (almost) on the spelling part...
also, I guess it is partly to do growing up as a second generation immigrant and that in our family, Danish, English and Swedish culture and language flowing and cross pollination each other...
which often makes it hard knowing how different rules are applied in different languages ...
...what is worst is that English Language was a completely only spoke/heard language
...and what turned out even more crappy in the pocket, was that when we started having English in school, Since my accent was very English (my granny was a cockney) they forced me to spell in Br. English but most of the stuff I read in english was in Am. english, like role-play manuals and American comics and so on so a totally confused lingual-cortex behind my scalp was turned out to be even worst!
...actually School "Frapped" up my english lingua and it took me forever to get some certainty back in my English! but I guess I ended up quite mid-atlantic as most kids in my generation, even the most hardcore Londoners use American words mixed up with their thick British accents!
but I guess your in a similar mess, since your half Austrian and your German is probably highly influenced by the more commonly available German-German since you rarely hear Austrian German here in Schweden!
Here is another part of my written Saga about Uncle Jimmy!
He started to run at half speed in the general direction towards Bucharest just heading it´s general direction, waiting for his brain-map system to give him more detailed directions while making the distance slowly diminish while the calibration process did it´s cumbersome slow grinding work, he should really contact the commander soon to get it upgraded!
...at the same time an angry inner interface repeated in I loud steady rant: " Smudge I will revenge you!"
Who was the conspiracy who had murdered his mustached long time friend?
They had just jumped through the bedroom´s windows with ferocity in the perfect strike...
Had they been following them on their Garden walk?
He tried to access Smudge´s stored visual memories through his inner computing, but this was as slow as the mapping process running at the same time in his head...
But finally he got one of Smudges reclaimed memories, there behind a bush where a couple of boots never consciously processed by Smudges "standard" brain perhaps in his uttermost field of vision...
The boots where all black and of the same type and make, almost like old Prussian cavalry boots...
He slowed down one of the images from the shooting put on an average atomic calculator, there he got a blurry image of the projectiles used, That wasn´t lead bullets or metallic bullets...
the blur was to huge to zoom in on subatomic level, so he couldn´t calibrate an image of the electrons to further make out what material they were, but one thing he could say that was no ordinary material for slugs!
...while map results slowly rolled in to his cortex he started to increase the speed to a more Run-marching style since the goal of his travel became more vividly available to his mind!
...but why did Smudge keep a gun that he was ready to use on his old friend at the start of their short reunification?
...and what was weirder, how could a such die-hard old professional be tracked so easily by both Enemies and friends?
Did he wan´t to be killed? or was it a fake kill, had they made a clone of him replacing him somehow!
an inner image in gothic letters came up inside his head: "system failure Lever and regeneration breakdown, Systems all out, place us in a safe zone until proper processes can be restored to repair Systems!
Jimmy thought to him self: why the Zooming Crappers should that happens just now?
Then he thought why not now it happens all the time!
Why was the commander such a cheap money turner! I mean the Russian soldiers where updated all the time, why not our faction!
Then after a while of running through forests and swamps he had to stop, there was a great force-field of some sort stopping his progress mentally and physically , he tried to trace the source with his external Minor processor he had a s a cheap backup...
---it wassn´t the sharpest sensor, but it could work these minor tasks... a turf not far away gave off signals of the right frequency!
a small beetle was the source of the forcefield, it was probably a biological bug working as a bug-field generator, his enemies had some sort of twisted humor!
...He thought about a solution to this problem, his first instinctive thought was to surgically remove the electro-enhancement from the biological tissues, to spare the little "bugger" it´s life, but that could probably take hours and time was space if he wanted to revenge his friend!
He took it from the ground, checked it for boobytraps and similar hidden devises, removed it´s entire bug-brain, he felt a big hollow sorry of this nasty deed then molecule by molecule plucked it all in to smaller pieces and disintegrate it entirely...
out of pity ha made a tiny grave for the remaining corpse even made a small headstone out of chalk and wrote up: Here rests a tiny bug ruthlessly used as a weapon, it was nothing personal, I was in a hurry!
I would love some input since my GF won´t listen or critique the pulp saga, since she thinks I should focus on other stuff!
See you soon in some green park with some cold peoples-beer!
Drury- You did this to Norbert-? You-?
*Drury runs at Strange, who immediately hits his damaged leg*
Strange- *tsk tsk* You should have let that heal Mr Walker.
Strange- Oh, if you insist, but believe me, you may not like what you find. 25 years ago, I was... approached by an organisation...
Drury- The Injustice Society right?
Strange- Correct. I was placed on a council, of like-minded individuals. Your brother Norbert was but one of many subjects we treated. He was our patient, we fixed him-
Drury- Perverted him. You took what made him him!
Strange- That may be so... But I was not alone- Ivo, Morrow, Helfern, Desmond... Quite the team we made. Dekker of course served a minimal role. Fashion.
Dekker- I would hardly call fashion a minimal role Hugo!
Strange- They served the Injustice So
X Club Porn
Femdom Spank Art
Teen Porno Orgy
