I hated mud when I was a little kid. I used to get covered with it on the playground in Geneva. It rained so much, it became an accessory to my outfit after every recess. I became a pro at washing it off my shoes in the girl’s bathroom.
Her hair was soaked. Her make-up was smeared down her face. The back of her dress and her pantyhose are coated in mud. Yet she had a smile on her face, because she’d never felt more beautiful.
Tumbling, crying out, running through it. It was amazing! The rain beat down around them, on them, seemingly through them to strike the ground below and turn it into a slick heaven. Mary pushed Sean down and sat on him, laughing.
Mud, it was all around and inside her shoes and her shirt. How the in all the hells had she gotten here? It was ridiculous how such tiny decisions as taking a bus ticket from a friend had led her to being almost submerged in a field of mud!
Running up the hill, I slipped and started tumbling downwards. The ground was moist and squishy, and I could feel the mud soaking through my pants as I screamed for help. Where was he?
She rolled it in like a pig might. It didn’t matter. She needed to feel dirty, to connect with the wet earth like the animal she was. She dug her nails into the rich soil and growled out her anguish in a keening groan.
It’s the filthy substance that covers the ground during a festival. Everyone slips and slides around in the brown, semi-liquid matter, and for most people, it’s what’s defining a few days of friends, beer and music. It’s the substance of summer.
reminds me of camp. the mud wars. we threw clumps of mud at each other and i got you square in the face. back then it was all flirting, now i wish i could do that to you again and again and again and again and again until you choke on it. you’re nothing but dirt to me
“Look!” she cried cheerfully, lifting a pile in the air. “Mud!”
“Yes,” he agreed, crouching at the edge of the puddle. “Lots of it!”
She giggled and began to push it together in a cake. He noticed a lot of it was oozing through the holes in her shoes, and he winced at what her mother would say.
The mud was caked on his boots. Those old boots of his were worn to the heel with countless days of transformed wandering. He pushed himself to the edges of travel, and now as he stumbled, old and decrepit into the town his old bones were finally protesting his constant steps. Time to settle.
Its all sorts of mucky and really dirty, you can get germs from this stuff man, mud mud mud, what to say about the state of mud in todays society? its really drity, worms love it and i recently fell in it and got really dirty.
While camping at Inks Lake this week, it rained and rained and rained. There was mud everywhere! On my shoes…in the tent…inder the tables… in the showers.
My feet hit the ground, and mud splashes everywhere. I reach the finish line covered in sweat, tears, and mud. I stand alone looking back of what I have conquered thru the mud.
Mud is like scum. It rubs my bum when I sit down in the absence of sun. Maybe some rain is needed for this mumble to make sense, but mud is the same to this sane man.
The mud was splattered all over the carpet, walls, coffee table. Where had it all come from? It had been clean when she had left the house only 20 minutes ago.
The mud squished between her toes as she followed him through the woods with only the moonlight to guide them. “This was a bad idea,” a voice in the back of her mind casually whispered as she steps through plants which, knowing her luck, had to be poison ivy. The concept of walking barefoot down a mountain and through the woods to reach the creek had seemed so romantic at the time, and was quickly turning out to be so impractical.
mud is brown and sloppy and there is lots of it on the ground and when it rains there is more mud and it gets on your clothes and you have to wash it or you look like you poo’d yourself.
The guy who patched up John Wilkes Booth after he shot Lincoln was named Mudd. Did you know that? That’s why, when you say “You’re name is Mudd”, you’re referring to that doctor. Happy July 4th, everyone! Your history fact for the day.
i hate mud. I do not like dirt. when i think about mud i think about cat fights. mud wrestling. two blonds getting muddy… that sort of thing. not my thing at all.
puddle of mud? i think thats what they are called. in any case they are an absolutely dreadful band. but they have got some good summer choons.
muds good for the face.
mud pie is tasty. sometimes.
His name might as well have been mud for all I knew of him. He boasted about his exploits as though he was the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I was yet to be impressed by anything I saw.
Warm and wet and between my toes unlike any other feeling my city feet had known. Not entirely unpleasant it was like being in another world or another body and I might never again return to the shoe and sock world of the baked earth playground that had been East Baltimore.
Guilt drips down your throat like muddy poison, killing your soul and your spirit. Wondering where we’ve been and where we’ll go after what you’ve done, how could you do this? I don’t know what to say anymore, but I hope your dreams rot in a hell far worse then anything the human imagination can think of, one only possible for a greater conscious to comprehend.
I fell in the mud once. The mud felt good it was something you weren’t supposed to do but you played in it anyway. Making mud pies and baking them in the sun inside of frisbees. That’s childhood mud and mess but always good.
i was walk trought the grass and then i found a lost dog. i passsed by it and for some reason he started to try to killl me and i felt into a lot of mud.
I hated mud when I was a little kid. I used to get covered with it on the playground in Geneva. It rained so much, it became an accessory to my outfit after every recess. I became a pro at washing it off my shoes in the girl’s bathroom.
The delivering mother of passionate massage
mud is brown in thick. The concept of mud is wet dirt. It is a world-renowned phenomena, causing messes globally and locally.
Her hair was soaked. Her make-up was smeared down her face. The back of her dress and her pantyhose are coated in mud. Yet she had a smile on her face, because she’d never felt more beautiful.
Tumbling, crying out, running through it. It was amazing! The rain beat down around them, on them, seemingly through them to strike the ground below and turn it into a slick heaven. Mary pushed Sean down and sat on him, laughing.
Mud, it was all around and inside her shoes and her shirt. How the in all the hells had she gotten here? It was ridiculous how such tiny decisions as taking a bus ticket from a friend had led her to being almost submerged in a field of mud!
theres mud in lahore. in the tight suffocating gullies. when it rains theres more mud.
Running up the hill, I slipped and started tumbling downwards. The ground was moist and squishy, and I could feel the mud soaking through my pants as I screamed for help. Where was he?
She rolled it in like a pig might. It didn’t matter. She needed to feel dirty, to connect with the wet earth like the animal she was. She dug her nails into the rich soil and growled out her anguish in a keening groan.
It’s the filthy substance that covers the ground during a festival. Everyone slips and slides around in the brown, semi-liquid matter, and for most people, it’s what’s defining a few days of friends, beer and music. It’s the substance of summer.
reminds me of camp. the mud wars. we threw clumps of mud at each other and i got you square in the face. back then it was all flirting, now i wish i could do that to you again and again and again and again and again until you choke on it. you’re nothing but dirt to me
brown,
wet.
deep or shallow.
puddles or ponds,
mud is fun,
making pies or bombs,
throwing,
fighting.
exillarating.
“Look!” she cried cheerfully, lifting a pile in the air. “Mud!”
“Yes,” he agreed, crouching at the edge of the puddle. “Lots of it!”
She giggled and began to push it together in a cake. He noticed a lot of it was oozing through the holes in her shoes, and he winced at what her mother would say.
Lots of people say they don’t like mud. But I actually really love it.
This is why:
It was raining, and the ground was so muddy…on that day that we spent our last wonderful moments together.
I still remember it clearly, surprisingly.
Slippery and dark, pulling me forward with it’s grasp. Sticky and sour. It comes after rain and stays for awhile.
Rain, let’s play in the rain, have fun in the mud. Be a pig for a day….not in any derogatory sense of the word of course. Just for fun. Oink!!
The mud was caked on his boots. Those old boots of his were worn to the heel with countless days of transformed wandering. He pushed himself to the edges of travel, and now as he stumbled, old and decrepit into the town his old bones were finally protesting his constant steps. Time to settle.
Its all sorts of mucky and really dirty, you can get germs from this stuff man, mud mud mud, what to say about the state of mud in todays society? its really drity, worms love it and i recently fell in it and got really dirty.
Like pud, jme sens dans du mou et à l’envers un fou. Si on répète ces lettres il y a quelque chose de humble. Ne faut-il pas l’être un peu?
While camping at Inks Lake this week, it rained and rained and rained. There was mud everywhere! On my shoes…in the tent…inder the tables… in the showers.
My feet hit the ground, and mud splashes everywhere. I reach the finish line covered in sweat, tears, and mud. I stand alone looking back of what I have conquered thru the mud.
Mud is like scum. It rubs my bum when I sit down in the absence of sun. Maybe some rain is needed for this mumble to make sense, but mud is the same to this sane man.
It is… wait, no, it is not raining outside. It’s actually pretty nice day for fireworks. Happy fourth everyone. Sorry I suck at writing.
The mud was splattered all over the carpet, walls, coffee table. Where had it all come from? It had been clean when she had left the house only 20 minutes ago.
The mud squished between her toes as she followed him through the woods with only the moonlight to guide them. “This was a bad idea,” a voice in the back of her mind casually whispered as she steps through plants which, knowing her luck, had to be poison ivy. The concept of walking barefoot down a mountain and through the woods to reach the creek had seemed so romantic at the time, and was quickly turning out to be so impractical.
mud is yucky and moist. i don’t want to be in the mud. i don’t think i can think of anything to write about the word mud.
mud is brown and sloppy and there is lots of it on the ground and when it rains there is more mud and it gets on your clothes and you have to wash it or you look like you poo’d yourself.
The guy who patched up John Wilkes Booth after he shot Lincoln was named Mudd. Did you know that? That’s why, when you say “You’re name is Mudd”, you’re referring to that doctor. Happy July 4th, everyone! Your history fact for the day.
some day, you and I will join together with nature, frolicking in the rain, as the sky meets the earth to make mud, glorious life giving mud.
i hate mud. I do not like dirt. when i think about mud i think about cat fights. mud wrestling. two blonds getting muddy… that sort of thing. not my thing at all.
mud.. its some wet soil you might stumble upon and get stucked in… worst part of a rainy day…
puddle of mud? i think thats what they are called. in any case they are an absolutely dreadful band. but they have got some good summer choons.
muds good for the face.
mud pie is tasty. sometimes.
His name might as well have been mud for all I knew of him. He boasted about his exploits as though he was the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I was yet to be impressed by anything I saw.
mud bath
Warm and wet and between my toes unlike any other feeling my city feet had known. Not entirely unpleasant it was like being in another world or another body and I might never again return to the shoe and sock world of the baked earth playground that had been East Baltimore.
Guilt drips down your throat like muddy poison, killing your soul and your spirit. Wondering where we’ve been and where we’ll go after what you’ve done, how could you do this? I don’t know what to say anymore, but I hope your dreams rot in a hell far worse then anything the human imagination can think of, one only possible for a greater conscious to comprehend.
I fell in the mud once. The mud felt good it was something you weren’t supposed to do but you played in it anyway. Making mud pies and baking them in the sun inside of frisbees. That’s childhood mud and mess but always good.
i was walk trought the grass and then i found a lost dog. i passsed by it and for some reason he started to try to killl me and i felt into a lot of mud.
If you throw enough mud, some of it will stick.
mud on our knees, we danced through the field and collapsed on top of each-other
i didn’t want to ruin my jeans
i did though