My protection with prospects of my dissemination of INFO!

With my hopeful disseminations asap which I pray for no impregnation, with my problematic STOLEN "SEED" coming at you, all natty like the Virtue’d Martha chef on a Massachusetts “The Vine-Wine-Yard” of Martha and my Mantha doing the bone-ing ($BONE rally today) postponing the mighty Sizzler Sirloin Steak at the $CAKE I hope Dan sold it at the highest of its value, tried ’n’ true, the sky is blue and so is Dawn soap, that nope- I use my right Palmolive to seek the squeaky dishes with the swimming in the fishes territory underwater, with an Arial the Mermaid story, her some slutty booty and pretty good-lookin’, but her never a “HOOKING” boulevards and sitting down in cars and trucks, these desperate fucks, dealing dishing with crack and cookies for “Nookie” on a club soda candidate, to call a “Call Girl” with no intention to inseminate with swung lushes of facial-sobriety sticks, to the eye-lashes. Just browsing clowning around, while out on the town to beaches of bare breasts of Nudies Nubiles on The News, me inthused CBD-infused fuzzy “Tubbies” Coin, of worn, deteriorated faces- lots of Anorexic chicks in sleep-over hospitals, near and far, those boring places, I’ve been to 3 different ones over the years, yes over all the probably about 2 years in hospitals, in total, like the ICU for 1 month, and then Fairlawn Rehabilitation Hospital with Dr. Kent, never spent a dime or dollar to attend his office, that—although—I bought him so many gifts to cheer him up, and that’s “what’s up?” to my Dr. Dominic Candido a Ph. D. therapist/psychologist I see, every week, but he’s been missing 3 or 4 appointments in previous months, that I need to tell him about my screen-time, no wine, doing nothing else but ‘a’ jerkin’ to a fetish of mine—and NO FETUS OR WITH SEX ON FEET—because these “POV STEP-MOM” VIDEOS: 

That's me giddy to detect a small towel they choose to wash—so tell the DNA to get squashed with a tussle—in hair, but there’s L.A. Looks 10+ that I’m as straight ‘a’ movin’ as a Rook (in chess) and Step-Mom the chests are BARE with what crumped in the “Lovely Litlte Lumps” — do the Humping, hummer-sort of sporadic humps of a large SUV that now you only see pick-up trucks and trailers of trucks so long and wide—accelerating with the little pride of making a little money—to be $SPENT Nazi SS “Penthouse Magazine”—and Pentagrams and POLYGONE’S be the days of sweet simple solitude in a room with a bed and a bouyant but burried CAR-pets are not allowed in hospitals, when sleeping on linen sheets, so fortunate to have nothing to do—sweeping, that is what the January cold hard Janitors, them tough and old so wrinklyish only under-payed— I am so fortunate for Sandy—I am ill and never well, can’t even remember what the washing machine settings go, you know? because they’ve always been Mom’s niceties, and Justine’s Mom had nice D’s of Augmentation in the Hollywood nation of if you have peaches, then when to you, you adjust your Reaches, Sandy’s beaches and no scummy girls...  also, no swimming fishes but a a while ago I got a Beta fish, that lived for a while and taking a circular watershed “Current” in circles down the drain—I flushed the little ill fishy down my shitter--and the guppy was bitter like a puppy drinking sour milk, Trump: Diamond and Silk, in the CNN of previous to ALWAYS keeping my TV on Fox News, so, there’s that, and then, Everything is all for Used!—battered $CAKE didn’t spike, worth a dozen times more, in the days of your yolk, and Ember the woman with her attraction to a minimal diet — that’s like my vintage, [ I AM A MINIMALIST ] Desktop Wallpaper: 

of hospital corridors—the Janitor but rotten—he tips his John Deere (my “stocks”) hat I hated that Britney Spears when she’d wear a “Trucker Hat” and smoke cigarettes—I hope she never has another “mental episode”—her now older the bill folder of my Mac Folder “Alx Neas” from the hospital that great time to intertwine and unwind staying in my bed all day—like the afternoon of MINIMAL NOOKIE—when, then, instead, that, then, we’d use our hands to puh-lease one another and I told my Jealous Brother Justin—him not to be confused via MY OLD GIRLFRIEND her similar name “Justine” just a Teen when we met and fell in love, later to fret with my alcoholism-folly, me once long ago and JOLLY and heavier with the nightly habit, carbonated calorie-laden and carbohydrate laid-then, with Justine I would drink, and I would stick to two and a half beers, that I dumped out the ending for my clout, and who’s mouth? Justine’s never drank my beer, that I said, “You don’t want to get fat...” being drinking and sweaty-sex sliming smiling and soon thereafter therefor thusly showering in the right hour, as any “buzz” should be extinguished with glasses of plain water—to Sober up—I didn’t want to fall in the wet, the wet, with Justine Aragona, in the shower... but her so short we had to find my first ENG class at WSU, entitled, “(ALTERNATE) METHODS, of Literary Study which I passed not quite keeping up with the class, at some of the times we met, and Instructed, MaryLynn Saul she was small and quiet—but the class ended and I had to say BYE, to it, to the world of Barron’s Literary Book, I took off the shelf and read it by myself—chatting with a girl who I can’t mention here because I brought up my lust for her “Beauty” www.alwayschillen.com/beauty.htm — I wrote in The Writing Center with the certain girl, being scandalous in her Photography II class, showing whipped cream topless and allowed in Photography II that I wanted to buy a nice camera and shoot the photos of my brother Justin’s “Ferrari” sneakers and shoes, earlier I snoozed, and it’s been since 2016 I have boozed, and calling BOO’S to my having been drugged and used, to create such great Poetry & Prose, God only knows what’s driving this Non-Turbo driven driving rightly so with no car here at “Averte” and typing is talking to oneself WHEN I HAVE A LOT TO SAY:

When my emotions sway into Pakistani Oil beneath the desert sandy Soil, of a Planted Plant of the sanitation of a Spring’s shower, but not at this late hours, relaxing relax I do to you the reader, my clean sentences of my being drugged after my Mom was told that, in class, never thinking about sex at the ALL-MALE HIGH SCHOOL, the older man who chemical-raped me, he told my Mom that in class, I was “Cool, Calm, and Collected” POLITE! Thanks for reading me, and all I know about John Deedy is that after being fired from Saint John's High School for stripping me nude with his charming upper swagger, so educated but homosexual, with him offering an ounce of speed, to fill his lower body anticipation of the creation of taking me over down-under the plot of his Shakespeare class was to shake my mind and my private back-side of his speed imbibed and applied, that tried 'n' true hard drugs will get you right and ready with real impetus to uh to, umm,but fuck 😡