Real Horror…
The kind of stuff might make you chop off your own wiener. Someone was running from the PoPo last night and I guess decided that he’d run around my neighborhood to evade. The dog was going nuts, barking at cops and the dogs that cops walk around to find the shitbag, so I went out and loaded up the 12-guage. “We have to defend this house” - thank you Under Armor add. Seriously…after an hour of keeping me awake and not finding the fucking guy they gave up so I, vigilantly style kept an eye on the road for any suspicious activity and I am happy to report that my neighborhood no long suffers from free ranging felines. I must have dropped three fucking cats last night…I’m fucking surgical with a shotgun…from the hip even. No bullshit.
“Dr. Matthew?”
“Yes?”
“I think that I need breast augmentation.” The clanking of metal objects in a metal drawer screeching along metal tracks and the smooth operating slide of my pump action.
“Doctor, what is the shotgun for?”
“This is how I will be augmenting you…with extreme precision.”
“Well then why are you not wearing any pants?”
“Haven’t really began to think about that…perhaps you should take your robe the rest of the way off.”
Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yesss. And if by yes I mean oh yes, then I fucking mean Oh Yes.
Having this awesome Mohawk might be the best thing that ever happened to me. Seriously…forget all those fucking dumpsters too. This bitch pulls out in front of me today, running her mouth on a fucking cell while illegally pulling out in front of me causing me to squeal and then correctively steer into oncoming traffic as to avoid hitting her fucking car. After we come to a complete stop she swerves around all the cars and starts to drive off, right, since no one hit anyone because of my great reflexes (that’s right, I could cum in your eye from across the room - try doing that drunk while saying “okay, I promise this will be the last time”) (quote inside the parenthetical? Brilliant!) so I jump out of my Jeep and immediately take my shirt off, because a guy with the scowl I’ve got plus the Mohawk shirtless is someone you don’t want to fuck around with. I berate this fucking bitch to the point that I think I saw her mouth into her phone (that’s right, she’s still on her fucking cell) “I think I need to go there is a crazy guy in the middle of the road screaming at me.” You fucking cunt. You fucking waste of flesh. I’m the fucking crazy guy because you nearly killed me? You fucking bitch. I don’t wear my fucking seatbelt you fucking cum dumpster and you call me fucking crazy. I’ll fucking scalp your ass you calorie packing twinkie eating fat depository. Crazy guy. Fucking fat bitch. Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if she freezes ho-hoes because she buys them in bulk when they are on sale and every night that she is depressed because she is a fat bitch and the only guy she can get to fuck her are the guys she goes down on in the bathroom at wing joints and it is always on the first date because not many guys will come back for a second one so after she swallows their mild tube sauce she gets them drunk enough to loose their bologna in the pouch (the pouch is the fat around and near the vaginal area - predominate on fat fucking twinkie containers, wherein the flesh tends to sway while walking and has to be moved to the side during intercourse) and when the unsuspecting dick provider wakes up and notices that he may get arrested because it is wrong to fuck a beached whale, not only because they are endangered, but because bestiality is frowned upon, except in Kentucky where it is okay to sleep with animals along with relatives, and the relatives of animals, as long as it is consensual or there are large quantities of Jack Daniels Down Home Punch, he will then figure out one of two options, he will either decide to end his life or cut off his own cock with a rusty spoon and then fuck himself in the ass until he bleeds from his ass and the blood from his ass mixes with the blood from the severed end of his dick and they act as a lubricant so that he can fuck his own ass easier because there is less friction because of the blood lubrication and if only he could just relax he wouldn’t need to lube up but then again, he is fucking himself with his own severed cock after fucking the pouch. Kind of hard to relax the anal muscles in that situation.
That would suck anyway because it’s not like he’s going to get his rocks off any time soon since they are detached from his shaft. Bummer. It’s a marathon ass fuck. Kind of reminds me of the old days.
I can’t wait for Travis and Alyssa decide to ruin each other’s life because the wedding gift I got them will most certainly be a success. I can’t say what it is because I don’t want them to find out, but it rhymes with Ceiling Mounted Sex Swing. Um. Fuck.
Don’t worry, I tested it, and the motion is awesome. But don’t get all cocky thinking you don’t need to follow the directions because I had this Asian chick in there and when the fucker fell from the mount she nearly took my manhood with her. Fucking tight Asian Pussy. I blame the Japs. I blame the fucking Russians. I certainly blame the fucking British. Fucking redcoats. I take it back, I’m not bringing three hookers…no, I’m bring one redcoat. There will be blood. Oh yes…there will be blood.
“Dr. Matthew?”
“Yes?”
“I think that I need breast augmentation.” The clanking of metal objects in a metal drawer screeching along metal tracks and the smooth operating slide of my pump action.
“Doctor, what is the shotgun for?”
“This is how I will be augmenting you…with extreme precision.”
“Well then why are you not wearing any pants?”
“Haven’t really began to think about that…perhaps you should take your robe the rest of the way off.”
Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yesss. And if by yes I mean oh yes, then I fucking mean Oh Yes.
Having this awesome Mohawk might be the best thing that ever happened to me. Seriously…forget all those fucking dumpsters too. This bitch pulls out in front of me today, running her mouth on a fucking cell while illegally pulling out in front of me causing me to squeal and then correctively steer into oncoming traffic as to avoid hitting her fucking car. After we come to a complete stop she swerves around all the cars and starts to drive off, right, since no one hit anyone because of my great reflexes (that’s right, I could cum in your eye from across the room - try doing that drunk while saying “okay, I promise this will be the last time”) (quote inside the parenthetical? Brilliant!) so I jump out of my Jeep and immediately take my shirt off, because a guy with the scowl I’ve got plus the Mohawk shirtless is someone you don’t want to fuck around with. I berate this fucking bitch to the point that I think I saw her mouth into her phone (that’s right, she’s still on her fucking cell) “I think I need to go there is a crazy guy in the middle of the road screaming at me.” You fucking cunt. You fucking waste of flesh. I’m the fucking crazy guy because you nearly killed me? You fucking bitch. I don’t wear my fucking seatbelt you fucking cum dumpster and you call me fucking crazy. I’ll fucking scalp your ass you calorie packing twinkie eating fat depository. Crazy guy. Fucking fat bitch. Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if she freezes ho-hoes because she buys them in bulk when they are on sale and every night that she is depressed because she is a fat bitch and the only guy she can get to fuck her are the guys she goes down on in the bathroom at wing joints and it is always on the first date because not many guys will come back for a second one so after she swallows their mild tube sauce she gets them drunk enough to loose their bologna in the pouch (the pouch is the fat around and near the vaginal area - predominate on fat fucking twinkie containers, wherein the flesh tends to sway while walking and has to be moved to the side during intercourse) and when the unsuspecting dick provider wakes up and notices that he may get arrested because it is wrong to fuck a beached whale, not only because they are endangered, but because bestiality is frowned upon, except in Kentucky where it is okay to sleep with animals along with relatives, and the relatives of animals, as long as it is consensual or there are large quantities of Jack Daniels Down Home Punch, he will then figure out one of two options, he will either decide to end his life or cut off his own cock with a rusty spoon and then fuck himself in the ass until he bleeds from his ass and the blood from his ass mixes with the blood from the severed end of his dick and they act as a lubricant so that he can fuck his own ass easier because there is less friction because of the blood lubrication and if only he could just relax he wouldn’t need to lube up but then again, he is fucking himself with his own severed cock after fucking the pouch. Kind of hard to relax the anal muscles in that situation.
That would suck anyway because it’s not like he’s going to get his rocks off any time soon since they are detached from his shaft. Bummer. It’s a marathon ass fuck. Kind of reminds me of the old days.
I can’t wait for Travis and Alyssa decide to ruin each other’s life because the wedding gift I got them will most certainly be a success. I can’t say what it is because I don’t want them to find out, but it rhymes with Ceiling Mounted Sex Swing. Um. Fuck.
Don’t worry, I tested it, and the motion is awesome. But don’t get all cocky thinking you don’t need to follow the directions because I had this Asian chick in there and when the fucker fell from the mount she nearly took my manhood with her. Fucking tight Asian Pussy. I blame the Japs. I blame the fucking Russians. I certainly blame the fucking British. Fucking redcoats. I take it back, I’m not bringing three hookers…no, I’m bring one redcoat. There will be blood. Oh yes…there will be blood.