“Your forehead's so big, it's got its own article on Uncyclopedia.” ~ Chris Brown on Rihanna's forehead

Somewhat gorgeous a la mill or a Bill of a broad, wide-scope, the minty fresh Mannie so I be without an itchy item to reach a tall standing—timber tree—Tinder ain’t free, to flock and gawk, albeit messy and undress me!  Thick thimble, a thumb-nail dipped in split milk upon the bar—ME SOBER AS OF 2016—I’m proud to have abandoned beer and liquor—I want to lick (liking) her beautiful face—my brother Justin was once Maced in his front-side showing clout and clutter when Mr. Peter Sargent—well he came after—him my Traumatic Brain Injury buddy and orally a “partner” but one time only, late at night, dreamily, me thinking of Laurie’s booty—it was not “fruity” at all or in the least—seeing Easter sun of bodily lubrication, being saliva, albeit not ever again, as long as I’m witty, pretty, and waiting on a $315 “Mont Blanc” Pen—but no longer attending Jehovah’s Witness “meetings” on Zoom, did I throb too soon—Peter drank and fell (on a public bus...) no fuss, so well, he dealt with the Po of him showing the sanctity of now, no drinking insanity, I think, I hope, just like I’ve given out-loud a big loud outright “NO” to any alcohol complication being “consumption”—my assumptious conjection to the jerks at “The Insurrection” showed an ovation and onto, unto a meal for me and him, he caught my “JIB” and I like skinny girls showing ribs—of meat for dinner and on her body—not too shoddy—that sucked to fuck a duck while hunting the urban pigeons—my brother was called “piggy” by a derelict junk Grandfather—no one misses him with smoking in his old age, musty “Retirement” kind of home, but me, here, at “Averte” I’d rather be at MY REAL HOME in Charlton, MA—I don’t smoke cigarettes so no Cartons, within the margins of writing this gold of golden gold, striped in a line along my neck (line, linked) spread Britney Spears now old and not the forte of all, anymore, and I show dismay at her previous smoking and drinking—She had it all—“Oops, I Did It Again!”

The song while enamored in fame—Britney became a shame of sorts, stuffing her belly with sweets, at some “Resort”—she might provide a retort of her having so many riches, that Britney B. what a show to see, and in high school us Saint John’s students thought of her dreaming oh-so fantasy like, hop on a chopper and flex the exhaust pipes, 4” long me singing a song of my own, Bugler end-pipe Tobacco in very small amounts, my Doctor said, after seeing said “pipe”—that’s “nothing” and I wish my lungs well, as the MMJ card has come to an end...

I don’t really care about getting “high” anymore, but the CBD gummies I implore Carissa Brisette to give me my mail, because without Boston Hempire (CBD ONLY! NO ‘DELTA’!) I find myself in my apartment breathing fresh air—while I “AIL” and Hits 1 on Sirius, it fails, has fallen, to the latest hits, barren of my-liking and my taste upon a waist-level kiss... but wasted with time when I could be laid upon a real “Dime” that B. is fine and fancy, Mrs. no-name Nancy?

How about that “Fancy”…

A snifter, a sniff-er, a “catcher”—oh get at’ter—come batter-batter... With the Ph. D. master of contemplation, so SANE? so IN-SIDES SPILLING? what guts, phlegm of cutesy cigarette brown butts, it’s a real Fussy Feline to recline when expected of nothing but to eat the Friskies and kitty on the couch, so Comfortable, meowing at the pie’s crusted extremities, mother kitty of milk come out the SAVE THE TA-TA’S tattoos hiding a bruise along one’s cheek—Rhianna, is she still in?

👏

Starting the Sea-Seamstress and Flossed Flex Botox

It speaks all throughout the work-week of paychecks playing pre-propositional ordinations of USA #1 nation, the Christopher Columbus collaboration of yeah American-Indians enameled as “the others” calm creation- when growing stride and wide, the fields of corn, and their Reservations scorned across the Plains, refrained and fabled, bringing food to the Brunch or Lunches, on tables playing Tesla—in-coming my ways or over Wax and Waze—thanks to Wayne bright and so incredibly smart—in a cinch to “pinch an inch” and his lemonaide in the pitcher, swingers singled out in Da Club when one cracks the CHAMPaign campaign when hours after, with dinner, at what work of ECM Plastics, Inc. spilling see-sawed pencils of #2 “ink-shells” deep Duggan and in the below-ground along the beaches shores, I request more money without any problems, here at “Averte” when swingled and me SINGLE—looking to breach the boobs covering—to be wed? And I have no “The Rings” to give these sweetie cutesy-pie babes of “Averte” in Bradford, Vermont written aloud and Anna in a Sheik’s “shroud” coming a-loud and a-long the rich rich rich singing sister, screaming with the Creme de la Creme knocking on my door, the conversations past mosts bed-TIMBER — fallen trees as treats, blowing the leaves scattered and neat-ly pushed to the woods—Them “Dem” alacratic Trees of Greens—and her Heiress heinous no sister for me, say “Sista, Sista” Danite at night and Hammy with a Manly Samantha stringing out the puppets of Jim Henson—me addressing a “Benz” and with Xanax (A “Benzodiazepine) being barren of procreation, USA “Nation” running rightly so, did you know? Now? How? “Howdy Booty”—on these flossed rear-end Trend of slinking slim and skinny threads, I’m Low-Carb—so no bread, no thank you, as I will have proteins in tenderloins, kicking Groins, that Bart Simpson and South Park—Bitcoin Shark, Dolphin, and Whale in my TEN BITCOIN “wallets” performing perfumed-up plays and the oh-so fine spring/summer Days and Nights me putting proven text on my 3 dot-com’s getting visits—me without “hitting a pipe” the mary-jane of yesteryear I’m now not the type to inhale the CBD, I consider it a fantasy—to get that King Bud to chew and swallow—the oral ingenious ingestion, in Jest for the rest of those with Healthy Lungs, a lynches “hung” you dig?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAfOBSW-YFs

I am lacking in the baseball basket—A CASE OF CRABS:

Oh my, not I, the one remaining clean after what another refrain? and in Sunny weather to drink as at being in all favorable premonitions of day-time lunches—let’s have a Picknick—with or without (you...) to choose a cheese “sammich” with wide-spread lessons in lengths of longing for a chilling morning, feeling thrills of fishes caught lures in the ground bottom of the body of water—the waves, yes the Wavelengths—paid in false pretense and playing Played Parenthood in the Suburbs not too shotty—my Shorty girls some years after me, in the Births of Birch Trees and BitTorrent not around anymore, the computer files in store—I need MORE Illustrious (and illustrated) images of what re-naming monotone monstrosity, of New York City (new yours scrubbing bubbles) blown a wand to great Bubble Balls and chewed chewing gum, I said G-U-M of Bubblicious branded, the candy at check-out on the ransacked shelves of hmmm let’s see, some Skittles—to skedaddle—I LOVE MY DAD! Wayne Marquis, good and greatest as we stayed at the Cape Cod “The Sea-Crest” along the Atlantic ocean’s Shirly Shores, and ME SOBER so no beer or berefted but perfected, Coke Zero with maybe some ALE... slow as a snail and ailing for a sip of sugar—pour it on my chest—the 2 nipples, niggardly nimble as a thin thimble—to be sucked and teased—he’s going to CRUMB!

Like the toast to most of the toad-skins to “Trip” and take a dip, get wet, anti-perspirant Nickel of a shared $0.05 piece of metal—a chunk of change—or the JEFFERSON coinage, being 30+ old women only of maturity broad scarcity of the diamond crystals—want to marry Justine?—I miss her!!!!!

I really want to marry my TBI best-girlfriend-ever, Justine "The Queen"

I've only had 1 beer on Christmas and 1 beer on my Birthday, I consider SOBER as of 2016! and my body-fat null, so ask me about the ass and skulls with 2 of my educational "Teachers" !!!

Pocket Flask, feeling Justine’s hind-Quarters at $0.25—quick to be sick along the latest ’n’ hottest trick to tick-talk ’n’ squack—when sipping gin-germs within one’s stomach fables—meals on tables a’broad to be clod fists—near the girlies “mid-riff” to tack a tickle-tangle of a Bass fishing Dad ❤️

Snickers smooches for all the limp-wristed negroes, what?, and go figure of a sing-song all day and all night when giving my loving interests to Justine Aragona—bed-slave laden holster caught up in the hospital ways—Disabled and Handicapped with tiny ways of her saying, “Olive Hue” my Mom ❤️ The #1 Dad’s accomplice in crime of the and those two my Caretakers, when subtle coughing in hazen ways—whilst singing in the lyrics a la “the song” from Heavens above—sometimes but not often, a heathenous ladies of Virtue it’s truest ’n’ finest—speaking out a cleft hip YEAH MY SHATTERED LEFT HIP—swimming in the pool landed aqueous summer salted of course, the Cucumbers of American Indians with Peyote (howling coyote...) yodeled models of Fashion Week, their clothing of silky slendered slim, puking pudding on a “Vim” of what who’sey winning and smiling at the accountability of a Bass Fishing Trophy—a bunch of them, a whole collection—the weighted “Insurrection” officially elected when a timber-top Tee-Pee erected totem poles in the Northern atmosphere and cleanest of smoldered ashes—the smog, sitting SMUG—sugar-buns of who’s the one with the most class—Kimmy K. her sweet face to be planted pals kisses galore on the cover of Glamour- a magazine of long legs and tapped empty Kegs with keys to these of D.’s modern wishes the kisses some southern comfort—when able to believe it and RELIEVE ME!

Whenabout to make room—bring on the Keyushami wacky-tobaccey mushrooms of a flagrant fungal creature—shrooms to munch for lunch, yessiree-  to eat them, Sir! and with stinky feet, they taste good with some meats like steaks of Sir! them LOINS so salivated when cows and piggies—of God’s “created” flimsy floss to treat one’s teeth, sucking leeches, raking leaves come Fall season, of any reason resolved—of the number one Solar System ornament—the p-hub infiltrated “Step Moms” have GOT IT GOING ON! all night long or when once time only before the best guy and gurl, having all the fun in the world—passionately undressed, minutes later we have a sticky mess maybe on her chested big-breasted skidaddle, of when to milk the cattle, Farmer Joe, him, you know, doing it cheap, infiltrating the silken sheep of wool in a barn-side heap, all of the week, but now to mention the weak-lings Chinese standing very short—Karate is their physical fitness “sport and retort” when Mr. Miagi teaches Daniel’s son, be like John B. the Black belt father figure with the clout, for and too what about? Ah-choo leaks Connie Chung, in all respects of women’s fanfare, “well-endowed” it’s all there and girls care—taking pride to do me—passing me bye, The End is Nigh...

Master Jeff the "Master Chef" (read on)

I’m just bluffing tough-in tonguing a chocolate chip muffin with my buns and my bunions, on-come the po-tater’s when I announce CYA L8R skateboard user- a cursed cruiser of L.A. Looks of gelatin gelatinous putting up a frizzly fuss, and it discussed- to the disgusting derelicts of D-rock in his flip-flops of a mountaineous might, putting the slidden slightest to fight a Testes and a Tesla—this a ways off—Timmy Hays what of an Odd fixings subcutaneous injections in the bedroom/bathroom installed, balls to the walls, setting a path of what wide forces be of NATO richness seeking The Book of what Qur’an-like writing, plus some plotting to seep in the air of bi-sexy Hexxed at Hess for gasoline and kerosene- the amounts obscene and to be cinders, catching splinters and what RATS irated letter “R” of parental discretion, and discrete clothing wearing worn bed-side sheets, like the Greeks whose Gods set in stone—the King on-screen and on-Throne, throwing up and tossing some cookies, of a Chef Jeff...

Master Jeff the Master Chef, cooking up some ill shit for the lot of you! 😄

I know where- you are, if you wanna, and if you don't know, put on a Bitcoin blast, coming in last-place on the first of my Bitcoins BURST!

Bird and chalice to meet Mrs. Alx Neas so sleeping together—it splendid—with a Hard Core surrentipiously current of Calamine of lotion, the lots of P. Ivy me to see it on my arm when I was young—oh and the itch—something something snitch in a ditch of Tony Soap ’n’ Roady benefected the breeding- Sis down-laden discussed the disgusting “Crowning” of out the pa-toot it’s aloof amounting to what wonders of such a plumber’s dollar-size, down-sized, dollars fine—I’m rich with $,$$$,$$$ in TD Bank, and my Dad — GREAT WAYNE — him to thank, and my Mom singing a song, “I love it! I love it!” in the car but not driving very far—all to preserve the liquid energy, a Menses a massed a miss—young and sweet, a kisses to the Missus and her Clause of bed-time giving gifts upon the twenty-fifth, toking and taking but what if—upon the lips in pairs, an on-stage or on-screen bellowed lack of CLOTHES—this when I know I want a fine dime in time for the SOBER 2016- so NO WINE, but feeling the come-straight on silly song of my Mom’s, mentioned above!

MOTHER DOVE!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7Y7sTTi6Ok

It breaks my heart, and I've heard extremely little from my parents, who they "wents" to the Saint John's Superiors, for the Trembles, the Terror, of Yours Truly, was I raped? DEFINITELY! chemicals involved, the gay faggot man, he provided!

Curmudgeon of decades ago eating Lobster and in the lobby, with a bar—a setting for alcoholics ingesting—what turns out to be my previous addiction to alcohol, being afflicted, and there’s Ben, and when, the Franklin $100 bill I carried ten, of them, being so Richly—taking the thousand dollars with me, where?  The Sole Proprietor, where I have been, a at least one hundred times, me big on rhymes and rhyming, all-the-timing, and leaving $20 tips, for Laurie, us in my limousine with hands groppling over one another’s body—she so beautiful—that was the once one time, me finding my fill—a Dentist’s drill—picked poking at moreover my molars, 2 wisdom’s removed, once in a hospital overnight, but I woker up under anesthesia, so it was All For Used: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cii6ruuycQA

I've been used!

I've been sexually abused in 2001/2002, see it on MyTube—that Mr. John Deedy can't deny, more or less anal intrusive penetration—my perspiration dripping and under him on the wooden floor—STOP! My Saint John's teacher, I don't want anymore of the pain, butt elsewhere—he crushed my hips—it hurt—he made me doing horrible things FOR DESSERT—fudge fillet—that FILLED—my heart and soiled soldier—I don't want anyone doing that to me, ever again, and when, I'm not a gay faggot!

I HAVE HAD IT! HE CALLED IT "BARE BACK" WITH NO CONDOM! hardened prod of that Saint wherever school, his rod that S.O.D. — so sorry old dick without delight and I PUT UP A FIGHT, SCREAMING, "GET OFF OF ME! IT REALLY HURTS! GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF OF ME!" and he's been fired but still teaching, him an English teacher, he breached me, a BREACHER in the bleachers and bloody booty, he wanted and HAD the what of me?  The anal interior of me!

There are some mentally handicapped and mentally retarded individuals here at "Averte" getting assistance from others, LIKE ME! I have a Traumatic Brain INJURY!

Anterior Jaded, so swing the maiden

Often faded to such sea-salt nested chicks with what real endeavors seeking solemn silence with the volumes DOWN—of Encyclopedia’s and your up-right fashion, a wedding GOWN, shooting up, with an elastic cuff of rubber duckies—with each a Hickey come around the session of especially to see, visions fixed, forth-prone with a $BONE—but not seeing the light of day, thanks and thankfully it didn’t breach the skin, oh what pain I felt from within my shattered into seven pieces- how dreary, and a poop-tube inserted into me, for a full month or like 3 weeks, when I couldn’t move a muscle, I was so week of the 3, so weak I couldn’t speak or form words, like my throat was cut, and with a sword, the S-word, being, or that “R-word” for the mentally retarded

Are you Disabled? Handicapped? Mentally retarded?

I had a slew of "TBI" bands and such, not really wearing them much, at all, because I am with a Creative Mind, writing wonders, and I'm pretty smart, I'm good at art, so I make fun of those mentally-re...

Clutch start it, when you start up a car and drive real far, through the day and night, speedo off-sight of what comes when the sun goes DOWN on the Prince with his CROWN, stems overgrown, that “homegrown” of my own, with a little seedy, the "Weedies" and steamy—I misty must be dreaming, seeing the obscene sense of what comes as “refurbished”—that used interior when females are in-furious and with faggots... the girls are all butt vanished, with a Vanquish as per Aston Martin and some people shorter than the other, conquering the Basketball Finals—The Heat—Seattle or something setting settled so repetitious when the fans, we, that, US, when inclined and involved, to watch the game, the match, betting on your NBA boys—make some noise!

Mannie is my #1 that beautiful babe, some lots shorter and petite, her "The Flyer" I want some loving from her being here, she's so dear!

Once the utmost clairvoyance of previous "collapse" a bridge that this happened soon after randomwordgenerator.com made it happen: (https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/12/us/i-95-collapse-philadelphia-commute.html), and then to my “Elegance” (http://www.alwayschillen.com/elegance.htm) story—my best short story—oh-la-la describing a woman’s morning “Beauty” (http://www.alwayschillen.com/beauty.htm) routine—my prose and poetry—to be seen as per your on-screen vision and my Nuclear Fission (https://jeffreymarquis.com/2023/06/10/tranny-transmission-nuclear-fission-nissan-sentra-se/)

Anyways, my shaden formost laid-then, and when, I knew I found my number, the one hunny-bun

Lets see- it’s the Leslie lazy, her a sound sleeper, Churches “Steeple” made of steel, and dealered at where but Staples—in my left hip—so suddenly being abrupt at the absurd Shirley going to Temple, when her a Jew—at a Catholic School—Goodman’s thank you bringing about artistic jazz guitar and keyboard of Ben Good-men, in the trench-coat once again, he was once my good friend, but Alas, we have a broad shaking her ass, walking gentle footsteps, again, and when she’s walking ahead with some serious CLASS, then dismissed when at Saint John’s we us buoyant boys—had no girls to kiss—some pretty as Mrs. Linquist who I miss, her a bunch, and once having had a hunch, like a hunter, her complaining about my selfless staring (butt-wise) her having cared, enough to have shared, “Wayne your son keeps complimenting my exterior!”—I say, amphigory comments should be ignored, otherwise women can be such clutches, such and suches—I want the smooches!

Washed away with cash-marks being coming and astray—a straw or rolled $20 bill—you crush the pill of David’s “Oxy”—the automotive JUNKS and unattractive, the scum of the Earth—who have multiple babies, says he and she, all for the money in paltry checks to last the month—toast and water, a feeble poor-people kind of lunch, munched in a bunch with what cash is spent on scummy Crack, and cocaine, month after month—the missing and loose teeth—have that with Kool-Aid Juice and State Vodka, listen to terrestrial radio, coming in crummy and fuzzy—Blacks fear the P.D. “Fuzz” on the radio band for official duties of the armed officers, pumping weights at the gym, the Curls with each arm and rowing machines, and running—a la Treadmill—I had my fill with 90 minutes each night, next to my University, trudging and exploring auditory fantasies but sweaty 90 minutes—drained—and time to leave the WSU Gym, going home to my Chandler Gardens, eating plenty of protein and oh the “heaven/hell” of Islam, that, well I didn’t read The Qur’an—when way back when walking and stalking while talking on the phone to my (still is...) numbero Uno’s that Mannie again, here’s her when before I bought her a gel-pen to sing the Spanish I — that I had to withdraw from, she was a “hun” to me, coming around her spot at The Dorms—yeah she’s The One for me, my Mannie, full of love, that good ol’ Fun & Loving her my #1!

That’s Samantha! 💋😍😘

Wah Was Way onto the Play of Satoshi Nakamoto and my sullen feeling when I think of my Grammy passing, dying and dead now, HOLY COW!

Olive hue and what to do when all is through, Out whipped it Arabic “shroud” and kinky to be—me and proud—for crying out loud, the somber and SOBER wavelengths of the human mind and blended (bended and bent), I haven’t surrounded, it with Cumulonimbus beings, that, well sky-high to shake it- that booty so fruity and frugal dollars landing on-stage—don’t make me tell you about a faggot “Stage” teacher, raping me and my body, so shuttup and have a liquor-induced many hiccups, that I remember that, my parents mad at me, the drinking foreseen, rampant hiccups of me, so fill the glass and watching ass-es assessed on-screen, my most of life endured more of the computer machines, now there’s many obscene—content on the web and, I, not watching that nigger-slut shit but putting on new tee-shirts some days—remember Timmy Hays with his Mustang and Dodge Dakota 5.7L—I like the girl here and named that like Cheyenne—I know she CAN offer some suggested and supported ways, that me, I oh bays—in all ways, that ALWAYS I respect the Staff here at “Averte” when I care to say so calmly, I need “Therapy”—but without the retarded mentally rejects, I don’t respect those “special people”—their nuisance of little intelligence:

Super Queen Justine, my heard hurt heart with what- I miss her booty for sure, as in, “Fo Sho” when showing me her pretty little crotch, minus a penis—Mont Blanc “Pen” amounting to $314.99 plus S&H I’ve enveriously never received by the jerks here but my parents photographing a wild deer—a wild “fawn”—in my front years of years ago, home to me being there, once again, I’ve hoped—with a hopping WHITE bunny on the lawn, I mowed every weekend and/or week-days when once again Tim Hays—his upstanding endeavors and off of odd-rah’s given pleasure, weak in the knees and loins, his growing grains, it rains, Saint John’s mostly advanced, smart Brains on us students—it’s only prudent and pride of prestige, the Catholicism it’s needs, albeit Mr. Deeds his pounded point lightly bleeds, as per the hours of international curiosity, of Islam, Allah, and me, to the I — now see double double vision. vision. when twisting and turning a mark on the page of SUPER-INTELLIGENCE, its precepts memorized from “Economics”—the Charlton Public School, their “Hicks” when not obligated to “Shower Up” after Phys. Ed. and instead sitting sweaty—all of the Public School FAT LOSERS, that Saint John’s had ways of assuring special lunches for the fattest of fucks, paid with big dollar signed insignia assigned to dine with only salads—a parental choice to moisten the cardiovascular system—that I ran XC Freshman year, running quickly fast- my dear!

A damn-sold Damsel of being what was for-told steer clear of bread with green mold—it’s too old—me seeking “Canadian White” slices of wheat and carbs—loving “Arbs” and K. with her worked accruing cash at where but ARBY’s delicious roasted toasted beef, all to eat—near Sun N’ Sound—kissing the properties of their purchased property, in the Automotive Accessory type Bid-ness at a Discount for me and D. us knowing Dana Gardner, him a friend- it’s not thee end, Dana, calling with no answer—I once sent a “Cancer” email to a sad smoker, A., I pity that bald asshole, having been told by many and me I was never, ever the type to fuck a baby, an infant, my pants, they were obviously not dis-robed, cock-sheathed without any penile rubbing. Oh ain’t datta something important with me having never “laid” a girl too young—that would be a volatile Violation of my inner Tuition amounting to many thousands USD—I’m a millionaire—my Miley “On Air” at this moment with Hits 1! on XM the Sirius I dig, the ham of a pig, a swine, without any wine or whining about my 2016 to current SOBRIETY—well fed? That’s how I stay instead of longing for sugar (I had hours long surgeries) and Therapies for my left leg and hip—there’s a pool here, but too cool currently—to take a dip—I’ve been assaulted and battered here THREE TIMES—given a fat lip, that I have an x-ray of my hip in 7 pieces, pinned together with interior metal, the screws drilling in, me in pain, but I—and years ago—I felt at ease with what I felt, the ancillary pain of partly my spine, with my Mom drinking her wine—purple liquid pissed out her behind the “Shade”—I eat Gatorade protein bars here, near and far, I haven’t been to “A Bar” in a-bout a bunch of years—liquor? I stay cleared, of it, not drinking beer—even a tiny little bit—as per my Bitcoins that reached almost $70,000 a piece!

Finding words online like "collapse" (randomwordgenerator.com) and a random.org 0-100 #: "45"

Writing all nighting to Cedar Sketch—albeit etchings and my scars:

 

finely woven—they’re STITCHED, with a “Bad Hitched&Cock“ going “Psycho” ouch Alfredo past and offed when said to me this: “You be the one, I want to kiss and touch ever so mucho much!”

Scrunches caspered and awaiting the Sea-Side baking of Clams in my hands of The Captain to be HOOKED (on that awful Oxy) Continental endeavors absorbed when it’s drawn... that S-Word (“swords”) like Hoodie Shit and masks on the capered-criminal, being a Minority—the world is a better place without thee, of squinted chick-eyed yellow complexion or that blacking black and purplish skin of a soiled shade—go back to the Conti-menial spot named AFRICAN AIDS: a crisis along what ravages mo’ niggas den ISIS, spent the Bitcoin concoction me nocturnal mostly when staying up all nighty- I be writing about the girls who appear and appear as appeal-ingly forthright to swing by the “Averte” apartment, on-screen albeit only, “righty-tighty”- at the nightly get-go of fake hoes, that, well, at least I know they’re putting on a show—if only for the camera—getting laid and paid some hundreds, or some thousands, Mr. X’d out Branson with a mansion on his own island property—this while “Averte” they’re pretty good to me, made, I’ve got it made with Sandy, the “House Maid” of keeping order kempt in my Apartment

But I’m meant to live in the district of “M@SSHOLES” rooting on Nomar Garcia-pah-rah and applause while a Beaver at the Dam—gnawing on wood—“The Boonies”—not the city of Urban Fallacies—Oh yes, I keep it fancy with Polo and the most pricey ME privy to Macy’s in Auburn at The Mall, and then Starbucks—shots of Espresso so small, and so potent, I order the “Quad” 4X Coffee extract, Cappucino I don’t think so! and thusly stir the kettle of coffee in beans—the FREE WI-FI—I would suck dry the BitTorrent quickly-quacky speedy internet connection—Fuck the 56k on phone lines, that

AOL “Chatting” with now “Facebook Messenger” when fishing to catch a lady-bass with a red spot—eww, I hope now not to disturb the female flounders at a stressed hour of day when swimming saddled tail and fins—my Dad fishes tournaments for many, many WINS and wow his Trophy collection—time on the water—he does a lot of self-personal “Introspection” — Dad I’m so sorry your father, my deceased grand-dad I never got to meet him, and it made my Dad study a bunch, more than a “hunch” when seeing his Daddy fading—my Grammy (R.I.P.) not getting laid then, I’m so sorry I feel, but it made my own Dad persevere with A’s on what the Campus “report card” of Biology being ACED!

With my own Dad’s success I’m sure deceased Gramps would be the proudest, a Testament to Cancer, but I’ve found my answer of a LIVESTRONG father—never smoking, hardly ever drinking a beer—when I was within my worst of alcohol lightly-so “addiction” that I’ve crushed—for my parents, mostly—my drinking is no more, me with only 1 stripper-whore my parents probably are aware of, and I swear: never again will I fuck a paid-slut in the what? the what? YOU FUCKED HER IN THE BUTT ??? and with a condom on, I think I would be called “A John”—whilst that’est was some many years ago, and know this fact:

STRIPPERS ARE WACK!

Flip to the Latter of a Bodily Scrubbing “The Lather”

MY LEFT HIP WAS IN 7 PIECES!

Hip or Hop, a wet mop found floundering sipping the suds—but not “Subs”—people in their nodded off trances, slipping a paper of "etch-a-sketch" kinda answers, made in a mansion or two—DAN me and you—catch a whiff of the $BTC brew, a witches stew harnessed, the Stewardess, now known as “flight attendant”—to GET SOME SCENTS—that’s a JK to my “Cuz” who he’s the one of my money management—being so often spent on Amazon.com and www.bostonhempire.com with CBD only, that, the psychedelic “high” of any “Delta-8” or “HHC” or any of the variety of THC... that’s not for me, not my style as I bicker with a tossed up brick building construction, oh the confabulation. Well it’s Ab-Fab at keeping the heat inside, in Stridex, my “Pad”—me being glad to have an Apartment here, it goes out the rear exit me homely—TBI is haughty and my girls be somewhat, well, NAUGHTY—like the “Night Nurses” pinching an inch and playing with Peter (Hi Pete!) when he and I remain SOBER, the clammer, unheard, as this is my word: I’ve gone without a single drop of alcohol for a few years now, that the, 3 years SOBER 100% I believe in not getting drunk, sudsy, or wet, with what alcohol I choose to remain as me being alcohol-free for the years, yeah I think it’s been three, with not a drop and no THC—when days of old, the days of yore, I implore the more-so many of you MY READERS—it was 2016 when I went to A.A. only TWICE, that the second time was nice and nigh with a sigh, a sign of my Dedication to 99% Sobriety—then 2020 was the last time I had a beer, and at a restaurant in-town that my brother cheered, yay 1 drink, and I think, he stinks because he smokes, snorkels, and drinks—with no hitch—and no GF !!!