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...