My name is N.
My world is fire and blood.
I am a man reduced to a single instinct.
To fuck.
You ravaged my world, my little Furiosa, as you passed me in that intersection so I had to give chase. Yea, I ran a cyclist off the road. Right smack dab into a group of small children gathered in some sort of huddle. Maybe it was a prayer circle - but who gives a fuck.
I weaved in and out of traffic, jumped curbs and medians, cut off a truck who then had to slam on his brakes. . .a lovely day really. You know, I'm glad several cars behind him all fender bender-ed into his ass. Unlike me, he was a road raging narcissist!
My road to redemption however detoured through your love tunnel. After several blocks of going through alleys, up one ways the wrong way and cutting through abandoned lots, I became lost. Basically my sex life writ large.
But then I saw you make a turn and I gunned it through the red light and over those pesky, orange drums. What purpose, other than cluttering up my rear axel do those god damn things serve anyway?
We never did actually make eye contact, which, of course only heightens your desire. I know you felt me. I mean I drafted you like a Nascar veteran on a Mexican speed ball. Witness me for I ride eternal, shiny, and chrome!
I admit, when our bumpers rubbed briefly, I jizzed. A lot. So hard, in fact, that my cock ring popped off and so I sullied my new plaid boxers.
Sadly, the construction sign that I was dragging finally took its toll on theHonda interceptor. The cones wedged in the wheel well certainly didn't help. And I have no idea how a 10 speed got wrapped around my rear differential. I mean, those selfish fuckers have bike lanes. Long story short, I missed our connection.
I know that you or someone like you is just waiting for me to jump from a moving car, onto your hood and straight into your, more than statistically probable: bald, bang-me-hole.
Where must we go, we who wonder this wasteland in search of the better, the untrimmed, the untamed, the wild, the 1970's porn bushy, hairy V-JJ? Seriously. Shave your pits, shave your legs, hell, shave your head; its all sexy. Just leave that moist, poon-tang paradise a jungle for once in your pathetic, meaningless, ankle tattooed, sleep aided, banal array of a bourgeoisie philistine life.
And when I find that overgrown, forested clam gash. . . it will be a lovely day. Oh what a lovely day!
N.
My world is fire and blood.
I am a man reduced to a single instinct.
To fuck.
You ravaged my world, my little Furiosa, as you passed me in that intersection so I had to give chase. Yea, I ran a cyclist off the road. Right smack dab into a group of small children gathered in some sort of huddle. Maybe it was a prayer circle - but who gives a fuck.
I weaved in and out of traffic, jumped curbs and medians, cut off a truck who then had to slam on his brakes. . .a lovely day really. You know, I'm glad several cars behind him all fender bender-ed into his ass. Unlike me, he was a road raging narcissist!
My road to redemption however detoured through your love tunnel. After several blocks of going through alleys, up one ways the wrong way and cutting through abandoned lots, I became lost. Basically my sex life writ large.
But then I saw you make a turn and I gunned it through the red light and over those pesky, orange drums. What purpose, other than cluttering up my rear axel do those god damn things serve anyway?
We never did actually make eye contact, which, of course only heightens your desire. I know you felt me. I mean I drafted you like a Nascar veteran on a Mexican speed ball. Witness me for I ride eternal, shiny, and chrome!
I admit, when our bumpers rubbed briefly, I jizzed. A lot. So hard, in fact, that my cock ring popped off and so I sullied my new plaid boxers.
Sadly, the construction sign that I was dragging finally took its toll on the
I know that you or someone like you is just waiting for me to jump from a moving car, onto your hood and straight into your, more than statistically probable: bald, bang-me-hole.
Where must we go, we who wonder this wasteland in search of the better, the untrimmed, the untamed, the wild, the 1970's porn bushy, hairy V-JJ? Seriously. Shave your pits, shave your legs, hell, shave your head; its all sexy. Just leave that moist, poon-tang paradise a jungle for once in your pathetic, meaningless, ankle tattooed, sleep aided, banal array of a bourgeoisie philistine life.
And when I find that overgrown, forested clam gash. . . it will be a lovely day. Oh what a lovely day!
N.
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