Guess what, friends.  You’re hired!  Not really, though.  I want to tell you a little about my life.  It all started at the beginning when I was born.  I was a twin then and still am today.  My wombmate, Milhouse, as he is referred to by no one is one of the largest men that an ant has ever seen.  During my youth I grew up.  I marked all of my belongings with urine and shared everything I had including bath water.  My mother was an earth science teacher on the moon and my father was half lemur and three-quarters poet.  We climbed great heights together.  I went to school in reverse order and Milhouse attended in normal sequence.  We met once in 6th grade.  Elementary school was a breeze.  That’s the time when we lived on an island.

I became very strong playing ball sports under coach Lifton.  I was younger then.  It was then I learned a sad story; my best friend died before I knew him.  He was a quadriplegic.  He had no arms or legs and but he played in the grass.  His name was Russell.  I had a dog with fleas and a hamster with thumbs.  After graduating kindergarten, I joined the Peruvian circus in Brazil.  I was a flutist and I made delicious crepes.  That was a long time ago.  I met people like Biz, the singing ninja.  Almost everyone heard him coming.  He was married to a deaf princess from Albany named Sheila.  I met her too.  We used to take pictures of each other and watch them age.  It took forever.

After the circus I lived on an escalator for a short stint.  At the top I met a girl.  We were wed.  She grew into an ogre and ate all of our house plants.  She had a way with squirrels.  She would eat them, too.  We grew older every day.  We had children.  A boy and his sister.  She died shortly after the kids in a salt water bath I had given them.  I learned that ogres can’t breathe under heavy rocks.  It was her anniversary.  I didn’t celebrate holidays then.

I lived alone after that.  I liked short stories and to pass the time I read a lot of booklets.  I briefly took up smoking and then stopped.  It was one of the hardest things I ever did.  I got older and my breath got worse.  I bought a boat and sailed around a buoy for a year.  It turned out that my anchor was stuck.  I ate a lot of fish then. 

I am sick now.  I’m getting older and my bones are getting shorter.  I’ve grown as much as I have shrunk and I think that I’ve learned more than I’ll ever know.  I’m in a bed and the sheets are wet.  I guess that makes it my bed.  Would you like to join me?  You’re hired.  Not really, though.  I already said that.

 
One of these b*tches is going down

One of these b*tches is going down

When I’m driving along the road, I have a tendency to stare down any drivers that I pass or that pass me.  Those B*tch F*cks; what gives them the rite?  Don’t look at me!  “What am I doing?” you ask…I’m looking for hot girls, that’s what!  Now, you might be thinking that’s a little reckless and immature.   You couldn’t be more wrong; the fact of the matter is that it’s extremely reckless and immature.  I am liable to hit someone…hard and often, if you know what I mean ;)     3===) · · ·· O-:  (FYI – that graphic display represents a winker and his hot bod with all that c*ck, balls and a sh*t ton of c*m about to hit that pretty little number’s O-face).  I’m looking for two things.  The first is hot girls.  I’m just perusing the street driving public and all of their assets.  First and foremost, I am attracted to nice hair.  Shiny, yes.  Long, yes.  Slightly curly, God yes.  The best part of the hair is it often times cascades down the body inadvertently pointing to other delectable treats such as the neck, chest, breast, and sometimes abs, buns, and legs.  A great head of hair and a hot set of chest blossoms is the luxury model I want to see on the road.  It’s usually marked by something flowery hanging from the rear view mirror; usually a flower.  Oh, unless it’s hanging from a minivan.  Forget it.  Usually, it’s some chicks ugly step dad.  Which brings me to the second thing.  I’m looking for some punk dude that’s younger, older, smaller, dumber-looking, worse car, and/or smug that I could kick the sh@t out of.  I’ll tell you that I’m going to stare that @sshole down until he looks over and then I’m going to look away quickly.  If I’d stare longer we might have fisticuffs.  He does not want that.  Actually, if it ever came down to that, I’m not going to do that because I can’t fight (I’m a bit of a screamer).  But if I did fight, maybe one of those pretty little ladies with the lai in the windshield might just stop and ask if she can dissolve the conflict with her nipple tits.  This would be the point when I get out my insurance information and check book.  Lady, you can take anything you want.  People are so great.

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