Micheal Jackson jerk offs kept me up longer than cranberry sauce. Chestnuts and kumquats rolled strait over the counter past the racist chez lounge. Your staring abilities won platinum medals amongst the European metrosexuals. Long term bird baths tied up my peripheral ligaments until
you stubbed your toe.
Your spiraling follicles and bionic particles turn me inside out. Polly wanted crackers but only got slapped hands and foreheads. Really, you could be my Allison. I'm so gone in the fairy tale forest of chest hair and fuzzy nuts you bring to the mesa verde.
While in the position that
jelly beans bake, I miss you like every time. I can't be critical about our crusty copulation when there are TV guides and homo erotic napkins in the tub. Repeat the linguistics that
made me come
3,000 minutes of ego centric mix tapes to your pad and pencil down under. Boo Radley had almost everything to do with it. We are two in a million flapjacks served. Could you untangle my eyelashes from tarot card anthropomorphic Mexican lovers? Affairs with sulfur stained porcelain ejaculated new and improved recipes
so hard I cried.