Jesus and Mama Theresa

Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! These decrepit creepers done in-to their own sin found within their chocolate heritage, or the Chinks, winkie winks, methinks the Facebook folly of no longer only acceptance of dot-EDU email addresses—the danged minorities put in their measly existence of online equality and then them not making any sense or lol a measly dollar, THE SCAMMERS, damned doofuses get scammed—like me donating to Africa—oh I hate you dark-skinned sinngers not amused, the pulls and tugs, the online THUGS—deleted by me and what to see? what to think? They stink, Jamal and Tyrese, the creeps and creepers, me scared to put open my peepers, my online friends- my “peeps” when I take a penis-style piss, on a fat Chinese—white rice—birches trees yet to see the windy wilderness, as I sit on my couch, playing crotchet to the online debauchery—it takes all of me, and winded, my right arm grinded—what’s which the pretty girl tonight, I think I might- to be with one of these naked hoes, you the reader, you knows, what I’m talking ‘bout—slippery mouth and tongue, I’m hung like a horse, these online babes seeking thousands of cents—and later on the pretense of arranging “The Deal”—to pay for a meal, a burger and a side-salad, that’s it to addition of a misaligned Monday—who goes out on Mondays? (but the lushes) Viet-Vets not making sense and addicted to narcotics—the time of days and nights—without any “gack” or “yeyo”—oh I know enough to donate to churches—preparing meals with homeless appeal and/or workers laid off, that bless their families, they don’t pay for soap or groceries, I’ve yet to see a single soul and Black, slept wristed limp and fisted fisheries of New England lobsters—when will they provide that red-clawed dining, again, here my dear, at unto “Averte” in all sincerity, with welfare poors, fed assistance (U.S. Federal Assistance) of foods stamped with no evaporation-date, when, now, well it’s TOO LATE TO FILL THE PLATE!

Licensed metal characters on the back-side rear of a car, succumbing to police radar, on whatever public transit (think: road and/or highway) we’ll do this my way, without a shitty heap of junk, deceased body in the Trunk of a car or flatbed of a Truck, just my luck to be on the Net—not “lacking or without”, of definitely defined: BEREFT

Saintly succumbed to a Holy “Cuke”—a cucumber green and to be seen with (re)PRODUCE at Market Basket, finished a Flask I’ve had it with low-life drunks and drug-addicted punks!