Sunday Morning

Slid into her DMs without much warning; wouldn't be surprised if I broke a pelvic muscle or some shit. Anyhoot, hoes be swiping left while I'm spamming Report; (1) Bot all over their nonexistent faces. It's five o'clock on the dot and this lackadaisical sun-drenched day is well underway (fun-fetched). Lost a few spelling contests on technicalities (my Latin alphabet letters were not acceptable for their philistine arses). So we go. So we go-go—push this fucking baby out. Get it out of my system. Alright let's name it. John Long Johnson, Jr. Little Dong for short. Never met a girl of which I didn't think: "We can work with that." Double negative for those supple mega-tits. Fuck, I shoulda jerked the Dong Sr. before writing this pathetic post. My New Jersey Liberty play tonight against some expansion vanity team; I might watch. Tina Charles is carrying my bricksquad on her chiseled back. PM me with ideas on how to the spend the next three to 1,247 hours. It's a long life for a small wife.