For this fantastic sexual maneuver, the weather must be just perfect. As you are having passionate intercourse in the outdoors, you see off in the distance a storm arising. As it approaches you realize that this particular storm is a THUNDERSTORM. It is your opportunity for a LORD BYRON. Cock is cocked and the storm is brewing. Pull out and stand above her in a majestic lord-like pose. As soon as the lightning flashes you shit... it drops (BOOM!) on her chest as the thunder crashes. You stand majestically above her as a lord who has just conquered a lesser race. Lord Byron then takes a cigarette out and ashes on the shit he just left on her luscious bosoms.
Lord Byron did a number on that bitch last night.
The baddest motherfucker to ever roam this Earth.
Robert: "Rick said that Tom got drunk and high last night, fucked a set of smoking hot twins, and woke up this morning and cooked everybody pancakes."
Jesse: "Man, Tom is a real Lord Byron!"
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.