He poured the syrup onto his pancakes. As he was pouring, something hard fell out, then another, then another! He picked one up and washed it off, they were diamonds!!!
I walked in, shoes sticking to the floor because I had walked through the maple syrup I had tumbled off the table onto the floor. There is nothing as annoying as sticky feet, unless it’s having pancakes and no syrup.
Some madison avenue peeholes took rainbow coloured dumps over the windscreen of our childhoods, and now we drive blindly into the future trying to match up the coloured flecks of our aspiration to those writing shapes dotted across the the rapidly decaying landscape in the far distance. Someone needs to give that thing a clean. Liberate us from the saccharine payload. Free us from love in the time of corn syrup.
syrup is a kind of drug for pure.I don’y like syrup. For example, when I have a fever i prefer to use pill rather than using the syrup. i think it’s too sweet and i don’t love that.
her word ran like syrup though his mind had she really said ” i love you ” or was it just a dream he started to sweat it ran down his neck and back they were hot drops of sweat then he woke up and figured out that the same woman lay naked beside him in his bed she had made him make her pregnant a year ago and she was trying it again he was thinking” so that is why she wanted to be my maid to drug me at supper then to lay with me at night ” then she started to speak do you want some water he said yes it turns out she druged him again 5 minutes later he was deep asleep and she was kissing all down his neck and torso when he woke up in the morning she was pressed againt him with her breast against his and her lips kissing his
“can i have some syrup?” he asked the waitress. It had been a long night after running away from home. All he wanted was to have some breakfast and drink coffee to keep himself awake.He needed to figure out what was his next step
the syrup looking stuff ran out of the tree but when the man tried it it killed him instantly why because it was a poisonous maple tree his wife later told every one that he risked his life learning new food to eat
the syrup was incredibly sticky as syrup should be, but that did not stop the two of them from screwing each others brains out. what ever made them think to use syryup as a lubricant?
Pancake day. Everyone loves pancake day because it was the day of the week that spelled the most excitement, the most freedom, the most … EVERYTHING. Perhaps it truly was freedom, or perhaps it was just a sugar rush. I do not know, but everything inside me screamed for pancake day, and longed for the adventures to follow.
Slowly stringing sweet webs down the side of the table, a small pool gathered next to the faster collecting pool of blood seeping out from the body on the floor.
I went to a Maple Farm once, while hitch hiking across Canada. The driver we rode with told us stories of Maple trees, syrup and murdered hitch hikers. You figure that would be enough to sway ones mind from accepting a place to camp on the drivers land.
Her voice was as sweet as syrup, begging me to stay. I hate to be the one to walk away, but she deserves something better. Someone who can put galaxies in her hands and hope in her heart.
Syrup, really?!?!? I do not like syrup, and I mean the flavor, just not into sweets, but I like the word in the sense that makes me feel “sweet” and thick and cozy… not sure why but it does. And I know when I make Pancakes, my family won’t eat them without Syrup, so I guess I am ok with it LOL.
syrup is so good i lve syrup. I out it on my pancakws. It is so sweet and not tart at all. I love syrup without it what would we eat i mean i use on my waflles i use it on pcncakes i love it so much i eat it all the time.
So what’s the difference between syrup and molasses? I went on this crazy diet once. It was molasses, lemon, and cayenne. You’ve probably heard about it. It’s supposed to cleanse. But I don’t think that was “syrup”. Syrup is very sweet. I love it with my pancakes with lots of butter.
She poured syrup over her pancakes, not looking up at him. He sat quietly eating and the light turned grey in the kitchen and the birds began to sing. It was a peaceful morning. At least environmentally.
The tumult in her head was deafening, even to the sound of birds.
His thoughts moved slowly, like syrup, like the syrupy stuff the swamp was made of. He had been warned about this – the boundaries between the literal and metaphorical were thin here, so the slowing effect was both physical and mental.
Reading between the lines of the most recent email, her tone was like the sickly sweet syrup you pour over store-bought pancakes – trying too hard to get what she wanted.
sup syrup
you’re fucking delicious
i put you on my pancakes
as if pancakes could get more good
then bam!
sweetly sticky sugar
on top of gooey bread stuffs
man, i love you syrup
now if i could just do something with this gnawing sense of dread
sugar sweet.. sometimes its sour. sometimes its used to add flavor and taste and in some other situations it is used to cure mild illnesses. what is sweet to one can be soury to another. it all depends on the mind and thinking of a single person.
what do we individually think about syrups.
The syrup dripped slowly. Warm and sticky. She smiled as she poured it. It was agony to watch. Then slowly, she took a bite. Damn IBS fucks you up. I remember a time when watching someone eating pancakes didn’t feel like watching a porno.
The morning air was filled with the honey-sweet scent of syrup. The cup of coffee rested at her elbow, as she flicked the page of the book, adsorbed in the compelling story. t was a typ
honey
food suagr nice bees honey maple syrup pancakes love in food snacking grandma grandpa pancakes homemade pancakes
chocolate cak pancakes
baking
cooking
bainking cakes and cookies
anzac biscuits
licking the syrup licking the top of the syrup bottle
Walking on Titan was like walking through syrup, the hydrocarbon soup kept clinging to the boots. Sarai wondered what would happen if she fell. She was glad of the thick environment suit and warmers, as the harsh droplets of liquid methane fell against her suit. But she dreaded returning to the habitat, taking off the suit and waiting for the air circulators to do their job; as well as they worked, the first few minutes of breathing even a dilute mixture of marsh gas made her feel sick. She always hoped that, somehow, they’d find life out there, in the lakes of ethane and methane. It would certainly make it all seem worthwhile.
Damon watched in fascination and horror as his younger brother Clyde poured syrup all over his pancakes, creating a gloppy mess that was more sugar than anything else. Soon his sausages and eggs were swimming in the sugar as well. Damon didn’t know how his brother could stand it, but it was the same every morning.
I grab his face
and kiss his neck
and pull his hair down
from his skull
and bash his face into the window
five times or more
and wait until the glass
stops dripping blood
down his nose
in his eyes
from his mouth.
he wanted me to be angry
I became angry.
I don’t think he appreciated the outcome.
Thick and gooey, it slides down the stack of deliciousness. One bite at a time, down the hatch, here it comes. I love how the spirit is so much like this. He saturates, He’s sweet, He coats. The bread of life (the word) is not the same without Spirit, much like a pancake isn’t a pancake without syrup.
I love syrup. what a great word. the way it sounds almost feels like the physical product itself. My childhood memories are full of syrup and pancakes. Pancakes and syrup for breakfast always marked a special occasion for me
I love the taste of the maple syrup at the lodge. So fresh, still humming with the life from teh trees that offered it up. The love and the toil, the heat, the bottling, as if nature herself were belssing you with her nectar.
Johnny dumped so much syrup on his pancakes that it spilled onto the tablecloth, and his mother yelped and complained about the stickiness. “Honestly, Johnny, don’t you know how to NOT make a mess?” she opined, as Johnny’s father got up to get a wet paper towel. The six-year-old sprite didn’t care; he just happily munched on his short stack, giggling as the maple spread across his teeth and stuck to his pursed, smacking brown lips.
He poured the syrup onto his pancakes. As he was pouring, something hard fell out, then another, then another! He picked one up and washed it off, they were diamonds!!!
I walked in, shoes sticking to the floor because I had walked through the maple syrup I had tumbled off the table onto the floor. There is nothing as annoying as sticky feet, unless it’s having pancakes and no syrup.
Some madison avenue peeholes took rainbow coloured dumps over the windscreen of our childhoods, and now we drive blindly into the future trying to match up the coloured flecks of our aspiration to those writing shapes dotted across the the rapidly decaying landscape in the far distance. Someone needs to give that thing a clean. Liberate us from the saccharine payload. Free us from love in the time of corn syrup.
syrup is a kind of drug for pure.I don’y like syrup. For example, when I have a fever i prefer to use pill rather than using the syrup. i think it’s too sweet and i don’t love that.
I tried to not cringe at the bitter syrup. I gingerly smiled at the boy, nodding my head and feigning a pleased expression.
“It’s sweet, isn’t it? Just like me.” He joked, sticking his tongue out.
her word ran like syrup though his mind had she really said ” i love you ” or was it just a dream he started to sweat it ran down his neck and back they were hot drops of sweat then he woke up and figured out that the same woman lay naked beside him in his bed she had made him make her pregnant a year ago and she was trying it again he was thinking” so that is why she wanted to be my maid to drug me at supper then to lay with me at night ” then she started to speak do you want some water he said yes it turns out she druged him again 5 minutes later he was deep asleep and she was kissing all down his neck and torso when he woke up in the morning she was pressed againt him with her breast against his and her lips kissing his
“can i have some syrup?” he asked the waitress. It had been a long night after running away from home. All he wanted was to have some breakfast and drink coffee to keep himself awake.He needed to figure out what was his next step
the syrup looking stuff ran out of the tree but when the man tried it it killed him instantly why because it was a poisonous maple tree his wife later told every one that he risked his life learning new food to eat
the syrup was incredibly sticky as syrup should be, but that did not stop the two of them from screwing each others brains out. what ever made them think to use syryup as a lubricant?
It was pumped.
Pancake day. Everyone loves pancake day because it was the day of the week that spelled the most excitement, the most freedom, the most … EVERYTHING. Perhaps it truly was freedom, or perhaps it was just a sugar rush. I do not know, but everything inside me screamed for pancake day, and longed for the adventures to follow.
I spread butter all over my steaming pancakes. Then I poured maple syrup over them too. Mmmmmmmm…
Slowly stringing sweet webs down the side of the table, a small pool gathered next to the faster collecting pool of blood seeping out from the body on the floor.
His words, like syrup- sweet and sticky, clung to her heart. Little did she realize that everything he said, had a hint of untruth.
I went to a Maple Farm once, while hitch hiking across Canada. The driver we rode with told us stories of Maple trees, syrup and murdered hitch hikers. You figure that would be enough to sway ones mind from accepting a place to camp on the drivers land.
Her voice was as sweet as syrup, begging me to stay. I hate to be the one to walk away, but she deserves something better. Someone who can put galaxies in her hands and hope in her heart.
Syrup, really?!?!? I do not like syrup, and I mean the flavor, just not into sweets, but I like the word in the sense that makes me feel “sweet” and thick and cozy… not sure why but it does. And I know when I make Pancakes, my family won’t eat them without Syrup, so I guess I am ok with it LOL.
The girl grabbed the syrup bottle from across the table, she went to pour a little on her pancakes but ended up putting way to much on.
syrup is so good i lve syrup. I out it on my pancakws. It is so sweet and not tart at all. I love syrup without it what would we eat i mean i use on my waflles i use it on pcncakes i love it so much i eat it all the time.
Syrup a slow sticky substance like mollassas except that it moves a tiny bit quicker. And is a little sweeter and is also like honey.
the maple syrup was very sticky and stuck all over my fingers. The maple syrup also tasted very good but was very messy and sticky.
So what’s the difference between syrup and molasses? I went on this crazy diet once. It was molasses, lemon, and cayenne. You’ve probably heard about it. It’s supposed to cleanse. But I don’t think that was “syrup”. Syrup is very sweet. I love it with my pancakes with lots of butter.
She poured syrup over her pancakes, not looking up at him. He sat quietly eating and the light turned grey in the kitchen and the birds began to sing. It was a peaceful morning. At least environmentally.
The tumult in her head was deafening, even to the sound of birds.
His thoughts moved slowly, like syrup, like the syrupy stuff the swamp was made of. He had been warned about this – the boundaries between the literal and metaphorical were thin here, so the slowing effect was both physical and mental.
Syrup.
The one thing that brings me joy.
Syrup.
Oh, how I love syrup.
Syrup.
Reading between the lines of the most recent email, her tone was like the sickly sweet syrup you pour over store-bought pancakes – trying too hard to get what she wanted.
sup syrup
you’re fucking delicious
i put you on my pancakes
as if pancakes could get more good
then bam!
sweetly sticky sugar
on top of gooey bread stuffs
man, i love you syrup
now if i could just do something with this gnawing sense of dread
sugar sweet.. sometimes its sour. sometimes its used to add flavor and taste and in some other situations it is used to cure mild illnesses. what is sweet to one can be soury to another. it all depends on the mind and thinking of a single person.
what do we individually think about syrups.
The syrup dripped slowly. Warm and sticky. She smiled as she poured it. It was agony to watch. Then slowly, she took a bite. Damn IBS fucks you up. I remember a time when watching someone eating pancakes didn’t feel like watching a porno.
The morning air was filled with the honey-sweet scent of syrup. The cup of coffee rested at her elbow, as she flicked the page of the book, adsorbed in the compelling story. t was a typ
honey
food suagr nice bees honey maple syrup pancakes love in food snacking grandma grandpa pancakes homemade pancakes
chocolate cak pancakes
baking
cooking
bainking cakes and cookies
anzac biscuits
licking the syrup licking the top of the syrup bottle
I have been to Canada twice in my life before. In one of the places I lived in before, it was a ferry ride away from the town I lived in.
The word of today is confident.
Walking on Titan was like walking through syrup, the hydrocarbon soup kept clinging to the boots. Sarai wondered what would happen if she fell. She was glad of the thick environment suit and warmers, as the harsh droplets of liquid methane fell against her suit. But she dreaded returning to the habitat, taking off the suit and waiting for the air circulators to do their job; as well as they worked, the first few minutes of breathing even a dilute mixture of marsh gas made her feel sick. She always hoped that, somehow, they’d find life out there, in the lakes of ethane and methane. It would certainly make it all seem worthwhile.
Damon watched in fascination and horror as his younger brother Clyde poured syrup all over his pancakes, creating a gloppy mess that was more sugar than anything else. Soon his sausages and eggs were swimming in the sugar as well. Damon didn’t know how his brother could stand it, but it was the same every morning.
I grab his face
and kiss his neck
and pull his hair down
from his skull
and bash his face into the window
five times or more
and wait until the glass
stops dripping blood
down his nose
in his eyes
from his mouth.
he wanted me to be angry
I became angry.
I don’t think he appreciated the outcome.
Thick and gooey, it slides down the stack of deliciousness. One bite at a time, down the hatch, here it comes. I love how the spirit is so much like this. He saturates, He’s sweet, He coats. The bread of life (the word) is not the same without Spirit, much like a pancake isn’t a pancake without syrup.
syrup. pancakes. sappy and sweet, just like love. Thick, dripping, sugary goodness that slides down your throat… if only men tasted like this.
I love syrup. what a great word. the way it sounds almost feels like the physical product itself. My childhood memories are full of syrup and pancakes. Pancakes and syrup for breakfast always marked a special occasion for me
I love the taste of the maple syrup at the lodge. So fresh, still humming with the life from teh trees that offered it up. The love and the toil, the heat, the bottling, as if nature herself were belssing you with her nectar.
Johnny dumped so much syrup on his pancakes that it spilled onto the tablecloth, and his mother yelped and complained about the stickiness. “Honestly, Johnny, don’t you know how to NOT make a mess?” she opined, as Johnny’s father got up to get a wet paper towel. The six-year-old sprite didn’t care; he just happily munched on his short stack, giggling as the maple spread across his teeth and stuck to his pursed, smacking brown lips.