Cringing so hard and but never, ever crying of what to be, dining?

Me signing my special oh-la-la Signature for a nigga-nigga catching a shot of what in the head-spot, cranial symphony, no names named or Viagra of such Niagara Falls growing grass and tipping a topped-off glass of Tonic when awaiting a Hypersonic delivery and I, shaking in my socks, niggers with Glocks and German Lugers, the liquors and licorice I cease to subsist as a low-life kind of addict sucking on a bottle of Seagram’s sauce, once again, a new glass topped off, feeling rough ’n’ tangle to trot in the hotspot of a speedy Wi-Fi when the silk is fine and the night is nigh... singing a *sigh* as per the absence of my MMJ—to be renewed—a bodily part, pro-treated perused paper pages, colored, peeping Playboy when pre-18 yer’s oldie and golden with textbooks sodden from what a high school?

Let’s negate the fateful farewell of this infamous “Columbine” with years and decades in time.

Mom drinking her glass of white wine to squash the green grapes of SUPERMAN’S CAPE.

Saving the day with gleeful antics, in a house with an attic and a lower-side crawlspace.

We’ll all see what comes to be having launched from the world’s finest foreigners, Bantering Bankers and my John Deere (many Stocks) with Antlers mounted in a VP’s office, shooting the bucks, taking in the cantankerous you and I we are now known as the “US” to absorb a Funding of “Trust” with a Pellegrini pelvic throughout-kinda Thrust of benging L. in the warmest shower and then cold, to last, many minutes of what to interupt—the voice of my girlfriend that called to an end of L. and I ween-ered *wishes and sighs* the time was Nigh and bright post-swimming poolside, her implants had me eye’ing—them of her short Mom—she would hem her pants with scissors, I recommended taking them to a seemingly professional “seamstress” and that was best with her well-dressed... her dresses and mini-skirts I would flirt and feel her face with a kiss, but once, when I felt her truest trust in me, with who I hope to have a bride-to-be, forgetting about any Tea at times when coffee suits me best, although it’s been many mounting mountains of months with-out a push-up’s done as I’m unmotivated to get hot ’n’ sweaty in my Apartment here at “Averte” where, and they, treat me alright I’ll say: “I SUPPOSE” but a crack-addict with a withered brain punched me in the nose!

How long will I subsist with my corporeal fitness here 3.5 hours away from my “Health-Proxy” parents?

Parts on Clearance: