Got an itch to scratch, you bitch- somewhere in your savory place

Sweating heathens with the Health Club fanatics, alacratic needs of these treadmill machines, build high-voltage especially escapes the Fatties—staying home and pinching a loaf on the commode (i.e. “The Throne”) of one’s neat arrangement, when sent to “Fat Camp” of healthy eating small meals a few times a day—chubbies’ boys and girls—rice pudding swirled as-semblance a Party to dance, partnered up with a Guppie, a cream-pie would suffice but not today of old, the exercise equipment, either thrown away or sold on Facebook Marketplace—that’s the ringing to profit place, believe it or not, Facebook has some satellites in space, with data-transfers taking place, ABOVE, IN THE UNIVERSE- it not conquered as of yet, Earth is best, big boobies shaded dress on that bright carpet—in bright red—pret-a-porte instead, that’s “Ready To Wear” without a care at a nudie swell beach, showing it in silence, but the waves, jiggle jiggle, tickle tickle, oh not now baby!

Besides, I’m out of reach, when, then, and now—we’re at the beach- Rick James, him beseeched! Or to be “searched” on Google with my many memories and references to you-know-who... oh you too! I haven't forgotten about you! 👦

Rest In Peace, Ripley! 👻