One quarter of an hour to one in the morning and it's just me, a handful of blues, a mouthful of taquito and a fistful of someone elses dollars. The dissolution of romance with Lady Vapor leaves every available vagina within cock's reach in danger. Fortunately my cock's reach is insignificant and available vagina's few. Greasy fingered typing, tympanic shattering volume, declining string instrument simulation rank, pending vagrancy, becoming Ace Face, masturbation hindering obligation, people. One quarter of an hour to one in the morning. Mute ants.
1 comment:
Deee-licious, girl. And... here's EIGHT blogs YOU may steal/plagiarize to thy heart's content (don't find that very off'n, doya? Just like to give my pieceOcranium to the world); be warned, however: Upstairs in Heaven Above, all of my EIGHT blogs of wisdom and avant-garde-efficaciousness will be attributed to moi, aussi. Though, I don't think you'll care one-way-or-the-other in the Great Beyond --- Shhh! Don’t tell! Didju know I’m certifiably insane and I’m writing from a state-run, mental-health-facility on Mars? (Latin: totidem verbis [in so many words]). God bless.
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