The quote rings in my head. I can't. II DONT Have to. And let-alone. I dont want to. Biting off his dick would be insane...
'4/20 blaze it. Get gud, n00b.
Thats what my sugarmommy taught me. And she reassured it every time i had hallucinations, bad trips. But she can't now.
The quote afterwards... I can't do this. Behind a bedsheet i hide. My sexy side.
Maybe its the climax. But for now, Its the foreplay.
It never was. And it never will. Chances are, You fail. And if i fail. I fail everything...
You need to be in this porno, You need to bite his dick off.
ARGH! STOP IT! YOU ARE BUT A REMAINING VOICE IN MY HEAD. A REMAINING VOICE OF THE PAST!
'Just bite his dick off, you edgy bitch.
I NEED DICK. BUT I CAN'T BITE HIS DICK OFF. HE HAS GONE THROUGH ENOUGH! NOW AS WE TALK HE IS DIEING!
Hey, I walked in teh light. But ten i died in teh sun.
Well. Since im gonna go to tarchart. I might as well go out trying.
I'm running. I shouldn't have disturbed the BDSM session.
I wish I was like you, Whorus, A proud slut. Who fucked everyone she knew. And made her and her fuckbuddies enemies crash and burn to the ground. I just hope you can never finish. I wish you last longer in bed than i. Goodbye.
NO NO NO NO!!! WHY DO I HAVE TO REMEMBER HER RAPE? I DIDN'T DESERVE THIS! OR DID I? I CANT TELL ANYMORE! I'M RETARDED!
Because you miss me, babe.
DEAR MOTHERFUCKING GOD
Infinite poop. You sit on the toilet to poop, but the poop never stops coming out of your butt. You have to start flushing the toilet every two minutes to keep up. You try to pinch your butt closed but that makes your insides hurt. The poop accelerates. You call 911. The paramedics call for doctors. The doctors call for specialists. The story trends on Twitter. You turn down talk show appearances. Your septic tank fails. People form a cult. Your toilet is finished. Volunteers arrive with buckets and shovels. You are completely used to the smell. The poop accelerates. You are moved to a stepladder with a hole in the top step. The poop accelerates. The shovelers abandon the buckets and shovel directly out the window. The poop accelerates. A candlelight vigil forms around your house. One of the workers falls over and can't free himself. The poop accelerates. A priest knocks over the stepladder and tackles you out the window. You land in the pile. The poop accelerates. The force now propels you forward and upward. Vigil goers grab at your legs. The poop ignites from their candles. The Facebook live event hits 1 million viewers. The poop accelerates. You are 30 feet in the air. The fire engulfs the vigil and your house. 60 feet. The poop accelerates. The torrent underneath you is deafening. 5 million Facebook live viewers. You try to close up shop but your butthole disintegrated long ago. 120 feet up. Your house explodes. The poop accelerates. 1000 feet. You are now tracked on radar. You try to change your angle of ascent but you should have thought of that way earlier. The poop accelerates. 4,000 feet. NORAD upgrades to DEFCON 3. Concentric circles of fire engulf your city. The poop accelerates. You have broken the sound barrier. 30,000 feet. You no longer take in enough oxygen to sustain consciousness. 60,000 feet. CNN is reporting on all the world records you've broken. 200,000 feet. You are no longer alive. The poop accelerates. Your body disintegrates but your poop contrail remains. NASA can no longer track you. You break the light-speed barrier and we can no longer bear witness. The poop accelerates. Forever.