Your dad made you eat verbs. Huh? I said he made you eat cum. The person laughed and I hated them more. It was now their fault this anger would eat at me all day long – a niggle, a nibble, a sharp fingernail to poke my ribs when least wanted, not that it is ever wanted but you know what – screw you, asshole. If you lost your legs right now I’d laugh and give you a Cleveland Steamer. Then I’d laugh some more because that’s how I roll, son. That’s how I roll! I didn’t say this aloud and they stared at me because I’d remained silent for several moments, eyes blank and fixed upon the middle distance. Are you okay? Yes, I’m fine. Except for your presence. Regardless, I then smiled and left. What I want and what is socially acceptable don’t always cross over in the Venn diagram of life and reality versus imagination. Something Donald Trump has yet to realize but he’s great and he knows some great people – the best people, the best! I digress. The point of this article leans more towards an issue of personal importance. L’enfer est les autres. Hell is other people. Unless those people are dead and not in front of me in a scenario which demands my attention. What do I mean by this? Well, does it really matter? Just remember that I know some great words. I have the best words. And I know some great people and I’ll probably sue you. You’ll know why. You’ll find out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Your dad made you eat verbs. Huh? I said he made you eat cum. The person laughed and I hated them more. It was now their fault this anger would eat at me all day long – a niggle, a …<\/p>\n