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!