Lots of Mum's and Lull's, to the disco at the tanning salon and GO and BLOW!

Scrambled eggs screaming at the Trans-queering of what butt insanity, the world- ridden of thee, the men who pick up a pen—in the doghouse—signing the Scripture of looking at a picture of a “vaginoplasty” assembled through blood and vain, the vanity, of no longer having ever had Mister P.P.—thinking it a masterpiece, that vagina and the yeast of some years later, the terrible regret, like APAP pills and such a feline, falling behind, being neutered, a “Cat Scan”—but to have throughout-ly thinking things to be true—being of ravished faggot-female TRASH—how about to having that first fisticuffs with Mr. Macho, who he knows how to annihilate the Tranny on a Mission—but foreign to the what of Nuclear Fission...

Oh and there’s the Biological males in Russia and North Korea with their manly arms deals, when dealing insanity—that’s the most you can expect of me, twinkled TWINK (I winked at The Winklevoss Twins through their offices technology). . . in which I have an Associate’s Degree, but to become a resilient writer pulling all-nighters at the Keyest of Boards, something created within me—for all of the girls in the world (no more minorities!) as I already know a few I’m nice to, I mean very very nice to them without a trace of hating certain races, as I’m always willing to make an exception or two or a few (!!!) I appeal to applaud the Theo’s of Cosby’s kin, who have what it takes to earn the pay for plentiful purchases—yeah some merchandise, my audiences clear, what’s with the John Deere (I invested many, many thousands of dollars into, in 2013). . . when hit in the rear, it’s clear, and one hundreds of hunters pegging tree steps, in the 3 steps of fabled fiction, Pathways into “The Garden” while the co-companion female wears Elizabeth Arden, not now knowing and/or “Care”-ing on the FB mattress screen—Evermore “Eve” to be seen by “Adam”—get at them for their survival—I am “A TBI ‘SURVIVOR’” encroached in the utmost erratic position, picking abstinence of alcohol, oil, gasoline, etc. if you “know what I mean”—call me bored and bearing witness to the zest of a The Cranberries “Linger”—when you’ve got to let it linger...

Who shows a Jewn nose, done picked a peppered Finger pointing at who? I know, it’s spearheaded to YOU. . . and you and you, Too, so just say “Yo homes what the fudge?”

Mmmm chocolate fudge and having gained a little weight, as the train goes by my Apartment, POST-HASTE!

No time to waste when you couldn’t stand a taste, of this, damned damage as per my own TBI, to think. . . when you can sit back and relay the lax principles of what you see here- I remember the time I was excited to see Laurie G.—pick a pecker, Peter—my senses further that it’s not so horrible, not merely a gay faggot thing if you do it in the dark, where I was parked, in my car and me picking up the tab?

Lorem ipsum  ;)