Mole, go in the hole
Go in your molehole, mole.
Do you know the vole, mole?
He lives in a volehole.
WHat a lot of talking about holes, mole.
Do you like your hole?
Maybe you could decorate it more, put in some curtains.
I know you don’t get the light down there, but still, it’d look nice.
the mole perched above her upper lip like a small bird. it was tiny and added character to her face. she wasn’t a crawford or a monroe, but she was still beautiful.
This can either be the very definition of beauty, or exactly the opposite.
People who are described with moles on their faces are often the villains of stories, but in real life people with moles are just as beautiful as those without. Take Marilyn Monroe for instance.
The little mole scurried back into its burrow, startled by the strange creatures approaching. He peeked just enough of its head to see the immense, pink moles, of which he had never seen. Were they another family of moles that he had never heard of? His mother had spoken of such ‘moles’ occasionally coming near, but he had dismissed them as a fairy tale. Now though, they were real, and huge. The mole studied the newcomers’ paws – they seemed awfully big in comparison to his, and rather thicker too.
In an underground world, the mole is the king. Though his eyes seem blind he can always see that which is surrounding him. Silent and quick he manouvres his way, finding new direction every day. He may seem strange and somewhat alone, but he is happy in his solitude, on his own.
he had a mole right in that spot. now that I think of it, it was the perfect spot. Not very visible, but if you knew what strings to pull, you would find it. it would stay there and wait.
knowledge beyond sight, sense beyond perception, buried deeper in genes than knowledge, dirtier than understanding. Dig, mole, dig. Reach, mole, reach. Find it. Without thinking it.
holy moly I’ve got the mole – I used to think the more moles I had on my skin as a girl, the more beautiful I was. Ha. Cindy Crawford eat your heart out. I never was a mole but knew a few girls who were. At least I don’t think I was.
moles are bad, i don’t like them. They make people feel insecure and gross. But some complete the person. Some people suit them, so they can be good sometimes. But I personally would not suit them and do not like them.
rat,hairless nasty looking little thing.gross-or brown thing on someone’s face,sometimes has hair growing out of it-fucking digusting.a little mole,some kind of little bitch,that more than likely no one likes-all around a gross word.
Moles dot my skin up and down my arms, little brown planets. What if on each of my moles, there really was a little universe. Or what if my moles made up constellations, macrocosm and microcosm? The macrocosm is the universe, the microcosm is us. Wouldn’t that be interesting, to know that all the constellations of the sky were the same as the constellations of my skin, the ones that I’d let you explore? You could know all of me, you could have it all. But is that too easy?
Moles burrow down into the ground. Mr. Mole went into the ground, deeper and deeper and deeper. He couldn’t burrow fast enough, was going as fast as his little mole arms would allow him to. Oh dear, he thought. I’ll never make it on time. That darned rabbit will make it first and he’ll find Alice and he’ll win and Oh drat!
I am a mole and I live in a hole – there, that gives my age away. I bet all you bright young things have no idea what I’m talking about. But when I was a child there was this song – and that was the chorus, sung in a deep, underground sort of voice, and we used to go sing it over and over, and it so annoyed my mother.
i already wrote about this, hmm lets try again. this makes me think of people that have obnoxious moles in weird places. like in the middle of your face. a girl i went to school with had one that was hairy on her chin….gross. it was hard to not stare. also moles are yucky little critters.
there’s moles and there’s Moley who sounds like Alan Bennett; tales of the riverbank and the river it brings to mind is the Thames near Hampton, swans in profusion, silent and serene and noisy honking Canada geese clustered round the end of a shabby houseboat rolling gently by Raven’s Ait or Taggs Island, hiding in a curtain of willows and a quiet radio wittering on board; my mother in law said it’s enervating to live in the Thames Valley, it’s well known, I found it easier than many places as it goes, and I love the river, the Thames is majestic and beautiful and characterful and carries all it’s history with grace and then there’s the tributary Mole that flows into it that’s the Mole that defines a Saxon settlement village with a special magnetism, oh yes I’ll walk those banks and lanes again, stroll on Cigarette Island, stare over at Hampton Court, I am not out of the ambit of the Molesey magnet even at this great distance of time and miles
When I was younger and we lived in Hungary, my parents had a friend called Esther who had a mole in the middle of her forehead. All I can remember is trying not to stare at this mole, on the forehead of an aging woman with long, grey, witch-like hair.
Prompted to go ahead, a little greasy man with clammy palms and a leather jacket. Chain smoking and orgasming spontaneously, right there in a firestorm of white fish. Licking his lips at children as he walks by, singing to himself badly and loudly, singing something dirty.
The mole was small, a slight bump rising from the outside of my thumb that I hadn’t noticed until that very second. The second he gripped my hand in his and pulled me closer. I flinched from his touch and glanced down, seeing that small bump of a mole.
they cover the filelds in chains of brown mounded disturbance to my pastoral dream – their hills trip me up when in reverie of arcadian idylls in the shadow of hills = they shadow the saboterur tunnelling under my prospects and visions – I’ll chain them, trap them altogether enwrap them in my fury and desire
I have a mole on my face. It’s one of my defining features. Everyone comments on it; it’s almost like the mole is defining my life. Silly, right? But, somehow, without it, I’m not sure where I would be. It makes me unique. Everyone likes to be unique. Some do it with writing, others with sports. I do it with a simple feature I was born with. That’s not so bad, is it?
There’s a mole on my hip shaped like a heart. My mom says it’s a natural beauty mark. I don’t know about that. I wish I liked it, since it’s a rather romantic notion.
She had one on her nose. It wasn’t large or anything, but it was just excruciatingly in the way. Rather unfortunate as it did accentuate her rather ginormous nose to start with. Not that I really took notice as I crept on top of her. I had better things to do.
moles are soft and silky and understandably made of mulch and sighs of the grass as it sort of weaves its way down onto the rock below which is what their claws are made of but i like moles because they don’t see they just swim in the dark with their rocks and whispers.
I watched a video about how moles can be malignant melanoma, and kill you. I have a lot of moles. Which ones do I have the doctor check out? I don’t want to die.
Ugly groth of beauttifil design. Turn your checy slowly toward the doctor as you plan for yoruy ber a awonderful life. Beautilful hole home with lots of cancer. kids. Grechds.re
he’s a mole
a dirty rotten mole
he deserves to live in the ground
no, he’s not even worth that
he burries his nose in other people’s business and thats not fair
who does he think he is?
to spread those things around?
i’m going to squish him like a bug
Mole, go in the hole
Go in your molehole, mole.
Do you know the vole, mole?
He lives in a volehole.
WHat a lot of talking about holes, mole.
Do you like your hole?
Maybe you could decorate it more, put in some curtains.
I know you don’t get the light down there, but still, it’d look nice.
the mole perched above her upper lip like a small bird. it was tiny and added character to her face. she wasn’t a crawford or a monroe, but she was still beautiful.
This can either be the very definition of beauty, or exactly the opposite.
People who are described with moles on their faces are often the villains of stories, but in real life people with moles are just as beautiful as those without. Take Marilyn Monroe for instance.
The little mole scurried back into its burrow, startled by the strange creatures approaching. He peeked just enough of its head to see the immense, pink moles, of which he had never seen. Were they another family of moles that he had never heard of? His mother had spoken of such ‘moles’ occasionally coming near, but he had dismissed them as a fairy tale. Now though, they were real, and huge. The mole studied the newcomers’ paws – they seemed awfully big in comparison to his, and rather thicker too.
a mole can be in your garden. It can end up in your science textbook and also on your skin .
interesting eh ?
hairy scary witch black brown big small face shoulder back leg nose nanny mcphee giant
tiny animal burrow fuzzy grass outside cute cuddly bunny rabbit
In an underground world, the mole is the king. Though his eyes seem blind he can always see that which is surrounding him. Silent and quick he manouvres his way, finding new direction every day. He may seem strange and somewhat alone, but he is happy in his solitude, on his own.
he had a mole right in that spot. now that I think of it, it was the perfect spot. Not very visible, but if you knew what strings to pull, you would find it. it would stay there and wait.
knowledge beyond sight, sense beyond perception, buried deeper in genes than knowledge, dirtier than understanding. Dig, mole, dig. Reach, mole, reach. Find it. Without thinking it.
holy moly I’ve got the mole – I used to think the more moles I had on my skin as a girl, the more beautiful I was. Ha. Cindy Crawford eat your heart out. I never was a mole but knew a few girls who were. At least I don’t think I was.
it is the opposite of a rat. He or she will tell you the honest truth. A mole you can trust.
moles are bad, i don’t like them. They make people feel insecure and gross. But some complete the person. Some people suit them, so they can be good sometimes. But I personally would not suit them and do not like them.
rat,hairless nasty looking little thing.gross-or brown thing on someone’s face,sometimes has hair growing out of it-fucking digusting.a little mole,some kind of little bitch,that more than likely no one likes-all around a gross word.
Moles dot my skin up and down my arms, little brown planets. What if on each of my moles, there really was a little universe. Or what if my moles made up constellations, macrocosm and microcosm? The macrocosm is the universe, the microcosm is us. Wouldn’t that be interesting, to know that all the constellations of the sky were the same as the constellations of my skin, the ones that I’d let you explore? You could know all of me, you could have it all. But is that too easy?
Moles burrow down into the ground. Mr. Mole went into the ground, deeper and deeper and deeper. He couldn’t burrow fast enough, was going as fast as his little mole arms would allow him to. Oh dear, he thought. I’ll never make it on time. That darned rabbit will make it first and he’ll find Alice and he’ll win and Oh drat!
I am a mole and I live in a hole – there, that gives my age away. I bet all you bright young things have no idea what I’m talking about. But when I was a child there was this song – and that was the chorus, sung in a deep, underground sort of voice, and we used to go sing it over and over, and it so annoyed my mother.
i already wrote about this, hmm lets try again. this makes me think of people that have obnoxious moles in weird places. like in the middle of your face. a girl i went to school with had one that was hairy on her chin….gross. it was hard to not stare. also moles are yucky little critters.
ugly eyes makes me think of holes, which the singular of that word rhymes with mole. also moles on peoples faces, some of those are obnoxious!
there’s moles and there’s Moley who sounds like Alan Bennett; tales of the riverbank and the river it brings to mind is the Thames near Hampton, swans in profusion, silent and serene and noisy honking Canada geese clustered round the end of a shabby houseboat rolling gently by Raven’s Ait or Taggs Island, hiding in a curtain of willows and a quiet radio wittering on board; my mother in law said it’s enervating to live in the Thames Valley, it’s well known, I found it easier than many places as it goes, and I love the river, the Thames is majestic and beautiful and characterful and carries all it’s history with grace and then there’s the tributary Mole that flows into it that’s the Mole that defines a Saxon settlement village with a special magnetism, oh yes I’ll walk those banks and lanes again, stroll on Cigarette Island, stare over at Hampton Court, I am not out of the ambit of the Molesey magnet even at this great distance of time and miles
When I was younger and we lived in Hungary, my parents had a friend called Esther who had a mole in the middle of her forehead. All I can remember is trying not to stare at this mole, on the forehead of an aging woman with long, grey, witch-like hair.
Hiding… Shy, and blinded to the truths – refusing to see the light.
When do we stop being moles and raise our faces to the sun? When do we realize that we cannot be blinded further if we already cannot see?
Mole: brings back memories of ‘Wind in the Willows’ – always one of my favourite books when I was younger. Probably time I reread it.
Prompted to go ahead, a little greasy man with clammy palms and a leather jacket. Chain smoking and orgasming spontaneously, right there in a firestorm of white fish. Licking his lips at children as he walks by, singing to himself badly and loudly, singing something dirty.
The mole was small, a slight bump rising from the outside of my thumb that I hadn’t noticed until that very second. The second he gripped my hand in his and pulled me closer. I flinched from his touch and glanced down, seeing that small bump of a mole.
they cover the filelds in chains of brown mounded disturbance to my pastoral dream – their hills trip me up when in reverie of arcadian idylls in the shadow of hills = they shadow the saboterur tunnelling under my prospects and visions – I’ll chain them, trap them altogether enwrap them in my fury and desire
I have a mole on my face. It’s one of my defining features. Everyone comments on it; it’s almost like the mole is defining my life. Silly, right? But, somehow, without it, I’m not sure where I would be. It makes me unique. Everyone likes to be unique. Some do it with writing, others with sports. I do it with a simple feature I was born with. That’s not so bad, is it?
There’s a mole on my hip shaped like a heart. My mom says it’s a natural beauty mark. I don’t know about that. I wish I liked it, since it’s a rather romantic notion.
There’s one in my garden, I don’t know whether he realises what a pain in the ass he is….I’ll let him be.
She had one on her nose. It wasn’t large or anything, but it was just excruciatingly in the way. Rather unfortunate as it did accentuate her rather ginormous nose to start with. Not that I really took notice as I crept on top of her. I had better things to do.
moles are soft and silky and understandably made of mulch and sighs of the grass as it sort of weaves its way down onto the rock below which is what their claws are made of but i like moles because they don’t see they just swim in the dark with their rocks and whispers.
Moles in holes with goals to leave earth.
They’re blind, we’re blind, everything is dark.
Blackness.
I watched a video about how moles can be malignant melanoma, and kill you. I have a lot of moles. Which ones do I have the doctor check out? I don’t want to die.
elom. Elom is all I can think about. and hair. hair should count for something.
He wanted to love her. But he hated the mole on her nose. Then when he finally got over it, he just had to say; “I love you, Mole-y. I mean. Molly.”
the mole was annoying but i did not want to break it.
Mol
Chemie
das Verständnis des Universums
Gewicht
Bedeutung
die Idee des Universums.
reduzuiert auf das kleinste gemeinsame Teilchen
big on your face. a mole, and also an annoying thing in a hole, a mole , they can make you very ugly. Dont pop them!
Ugly groth of beauttifil design. Turn your checy slowly toward the doctor as you plan for yoruy ber a awonderful life. Beautilful hole home with lots of cancer. kids. Grechds.re
a secret intelligence guy who works anonymously in a government establishment.
he’s a mole
a dirty rotten mole
he deserves to live in the ground
no, he’s not even worth that
he burries his nose in other people’s business and thats not fair
who does he think he is?
to spread those things around?
i’m going to squish him like a bug