soupwarsproject
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2003
- Posts
- 490
Here's the deal, I am writing a story about a cross-dressing Polish prostitute. However, I my understanding of the language of Poland is limited to a glossary knowledge, so I need help with someone who understands it. I am posting the portion of the chapter with the words and phrases in questions. Any comments regarding language usage, or even the story itself would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks,
Vas
---
Another Killer Day #3
I'm pissy, I'm feeling bad. Alkyl nitrite, loves this fag. It's useful when taking in cock. My dupa is getting some. I'm cranky, I feel so sad. I got Rocket, in my head. I'm used to it. It’s just like death. This old dude is gonna cum. He's gonna cum. He's almost cum. He's finally cum. Yes. Ha! Ha! Ha! Switch! Finally, it's time to vent out of my rage. I'm the bisexual shaman, chuj ramming transvestite sage. If you could be here, now, you would simply stare. I'm taking my share, as my man-meat blood flares. I'm incorrigible in my sweet schoolgirl dress so lewd, as the man is screwed.
My pigtails as green as a pool table doth amuse. Skylark screws and loosens the noose. Detonating fuse! Who G-damn motherfucking made who? Stricture of his anus fiercely spurts out lube. Like a long neck goose, feeling loose and frictional. Mythical Sabeen, magical like fable, call this witchcraft, an alchemical view of a moon daisy.
Reckless is the sum of my cognition of what cum is. Painless for me, as I fill him up with the white shit. “You liked it?” I asked as he caught his breathing. Ain't HIV like love? Death ejaculate filled the glove. Unless of course you’re into the bareback, with an attitude like old-timers who thought tuberculosis was romantic. That kink too I will attack, but plain vanilla pedo-wannabe-freak didn’t want to get sick.
Thanks for the company and thanks for the cash. Now like the Missus, I must dash! I earned these dollars for making him holler. I’m not giving this wad of dinero, to Chaz el pimpero. After tonight, that fucker won’t feel fine. His ass is mine, retribution divine, I’m finally going to put him in the back of the line for the reincarnation wine. Land of the Polska I love you, but my Rocket loves coca more than she loves you. America, America, someday I will grow wings. It’s understood that in your 'hoods, there’s bling and shiny bling.
The old dude drops me off in that one alley by the abandoned art studio. I wave goodbye at Mr. Puzio as he motors off in his Ironhead Sportster. I rap at the door next to the dumpster. Marek Wnukowski recognizes me and opens the door. I walk into his illicit store and he knows the thing that I want more than my Rockie. “Cholera jasna,” he screams as he tries to find my killer-killer-bang-bang among the clutter and the clang-clang. As I tell him to hurry the fuck up in Polish, he yells at me the same language, “Odpierdol sie, cwel!”
Ha! Ha! I supposed I deserved that bit of slang. I retort with a much gentler slam, “Nie ba,dz' kutas, zajebany huj. Chaz wymagania jego wystrzal, chuj!” If you want to know what I just said in English, then it’s tough shit for thee. The translation loses the beat. This is Krakow, buddy, and that’s the way it be.
Marek shakes his vek like a wet dog emerging from a dank bog. He sells me an used and abused Smith and Wesson for the pimp to learn a lesson from my sweet little schoolgirl impersonation. If you think this is hard for me to swallow, Marek tells me something that you could translate as follows: “May you get cholera! If I didn’t know you were a fucking anorexic half-Jap midget with a dick and greenbacks, I’d rape you! I’d rape you in the ass and then I’d shoot you in the head. But, you’re such a faggot whore that you would probably enjoy it!” That slam is cute. It’s astute and accurate, and I really would enjoy it. There's goes my money but here's my gun. Marek, he tells me to have some fun.
Thanks,
Vas
---
Another Killer Day #3
I'm pissy, I'm feeling bad. Alkyl nitrite, loves this fag. It's useful when taking in cock. My dupa is getting some. I'm cranky, I feel so sad. I got Rocket, in my head. I'm used to it. It’s just like death. This old dude is gonna cum. He's gonna cum. He's almost cum. He's finally cum. Yes. Ha! Ha! Ha! Switch! Finally, it's time to vent out of my rage. I'm the bisexual shaman, chuj ramming transvestite sage. If you could be here, now, you would simply stare. I'm taking my share, as my man-meat blood flares. I'm incorrigible in my sweet schoolgirl dress so lewd, as the man is screwed.
My pigtails as green as a pool table doth amuse. Skylark screws and loosens the noose. Detonating fuse! Who G-damn motherfucking made who? Stricture of his anus fiercely spurts out lube. Like a long neck goose, feeling loose and frictional. Mythical Sabeen, magical like fable, call this witchcraft, an alchemical view of a moon daisy.
Reckless is the sum of my cognition of what cum is. Painless for me, as I fill him up with the white shit. “You liked it?” I asked as he caught his breathing. Ain't HIV like love? Death ejaculate filled the glove. Unless of course you’re into the bareback, with an attitude like old-timers who thought tuberculosis was romantic. That kink too I will attack, but plain vanilla pedo-wannabe-freak didn’t want to get sick.
Thanks for the company and thanks for the cash. Now like the Missus, I must dash! I earned these dollars for making him holler. I’m not giving this wad of dinero, to Chaz el pimpero. After tonight, that fucker won’t feel fine. His ass is mine, retribution divine, I’m finally going to put him in the back of the line for the reincarnation wine. Land of the Polska I love you, but my Rocket loves coca more than she loves you. America, America, someday I will grow wings. It’s understood that in your 'hoods, there’s bling and shiny bling.
The old dude drops me off in that one alley by the abandoned art studio. I wave goodbye at Mr. Puzio as he motors off in his Ironhead Sportster. I rap at the door next to the dumpster. Marek Wnukowski recognizes me and opens the door. I walk into his illicit store and he knows the thing that I want more than my Rockie. “Cholera jasna,” he screams as he tries to find my killer-killer-bang-bang among the clutter and the clang-clang. As I tell him to hurry the fuck up in Polish, he yells at me the same language, “Odpierdol sie, cwel!”
Ha! Ha! I supposed I deserved that bit of slang. I retort with a much gentler slam, “Nie ba,dz' kutas, zajebany huj. Chaz wymagania jego wystrzal, chuj!” If you want to know what I just said in English, then it’s tough shit for thee. The translation loses the beat. This is Krakow, buddy, and that’s the way it be.
Marek shakes his vek like a wet dog emerging from a dank bog. He sells me an used and abused Smith and Wesson for the pimp to learn a lesson from my sweet little schoolgirl impersonation. If you think this is hard for me to swallow, Marek tells me something that you could translate as follows: “May you get cholera! If I didn’t know you were a fucking anorexic half-Jap midget with a dick and greenbacks, I’d rape you! I’d rape you in the ass and then I’d shoot you in the head. But, you’re such a faggot whore that you would probably enjoy it!” That slam is cute. It’s astute and accurate, and I really would enjoy it. There's goes my money but here's my gun. Marek, he tells me to have some fun.