Your pine cone fiction-airs lost me on the highways to Georgia and back. I was saving bricks for your motor-less boat fantasies but the overnight drive took away your libido. I wore out some other rubber made man parts with my wicked insides. Your tips didn’t miss much, just maybe 4 hours of reproduction. I heard you say
it is
a waste of electrical endeavors but when the bitch can lick her gaping wounds the only remedy is a cork. The lunch box is in the fridge next to my aromatic arches aching for some structure or support and other things your bubble gum vending machine fingers relentlessly forget. There might be some sweets and nothing home rightabout time
the dogs swallow these meat feeding paws. If it was tears you were after, those legs should have left the shoes in my mouth and the door crooked. Naked or not, knock knock jokes can’t win a watermelon at this un-fair ground. Are you wonderingthat I
haven’t lost all my change of heart and pennies to a grown man? Too bad movies are more romantic when insensitive sound makers are directing. Ever hear the story of the goat and the porcupine. The porcupine only died when it did know realize it had tolive alone.
