Join President Donald J. Trump, 45th President of the United States of America, for a special announcement at the Mar-a-Lago Club in Palm Beach, Florida on Tuesday, November 15, 2022, at 9:00PM EST.
(Listening to my announcements by hearing them is more comfortable. READ THE BITE APPLE CLICK)
STARPUSH STARTALK
Oh turns out, he's the fixer:
(MICKEY „MEL„ DEMON(S) PHONÉ.)
I'm going to have to talk to Ward about the beaver on the roof. Probably not going to be a problem because you didn't kill me with a twig and two small berries, and he wouldn't do it that way either, no, no: he would rape me to death just as soon as taking a long, slow, smoldering look at me. (WE ARE IN LOVE, David!) Sometime I forget that I've married his daughter while she was frozen in carbonite. Super overprotective. Overpaid. Functionally illiterate. On the edge of getting fired and still can't believe that I'm the one with the biggest finger on the button — not to mention, the fewest boogers. He's in awe. He's the law, he thought. Pfftt.
Probably is going to be a problem, I didn't put her in carbonite, he did, it's not my fault this is the first time he's ever wanted to reverse a process before I felt like kissing one. (She's still too old for me.) I do tend to play ball pretty well and I own your world/planet\demesne, so... *hitches up pants* what's up, Doc Hayseed? My phone is haxx⁰r out the ass, my neighbors are screaming at me about how I don't know nothing (I didn't until they started screamsinging the theme song to Full House), I got a funny dialect, and he's afraid I'm not g*y, rather than afraid I am (wife does Sudoku.) I am, as yet, unmoved, but let's see what happens in the shadow of 5:00 with Steve Martin, no we can't have tickets, he comes over for banjo lessons, stays ‚till’ midnight, and drives home naked while lying on the sun of his car and driving through the mooroof.) Now. How many Gabs do I need to post this to before we can have a conversation? By the way: my house is a SCIF. (My dad would be so proud if you knew what the f*** it was, and he doesn't know either, not just because he's dead, but he's a dead
athlete; but he's still grinning in his grave like a loon anyway. I don't know which Saint told him but it must have been one that spoke Hungarian in the right dialect, paid for the beer, and didn't mind the constant harassment for oxies after the first one.) My phone is a Q-SKIF. And the thuggie piggies next door get to listen now as a courtesy, I assume because God hasn't struck them down yet, but I guess they're kind of wondering why the sound cuts in and out sometimes (sometimes I keep my lips moving so they... I've said too much already), and G-d damn how much does all this cost?? I have no f****** idea, but I get three times 3years in punitive damages after all the local civil wars are over. And, they will be *snap* I don't even want to live here (It's not classy, it's a Monastery). Neighbor Sassy is getting close to be the last straw, and if I could figure out when the fixer will be here again, I'd probably offer to let him suck my dick a little in exchange for his captive car & keys, bolt zipper up and ⚡(I'm currently holding the world's record for the longest surviving case of untreated cabin fever, 12/21/89, unsurprisingly, still uncontested). Can you believe how well Thunderdome worked? Oh, yeah, go on go ahead say, “what.” It's safe; I won't shoot anybody in the stomach — this time. I haven't raped anybody since the last time, and besides that was my first. *blush*
totesaccident.
Which Santa's lap do I have to sit on to get out of this chickenshit outfit? Iohan Sebastian Bach has NOTHING, he's an order taker, he looks like he'd make a good second & he's not a Shriner, he's not a Jester, and here's how I know: those are “his” pants. No pockets:
Gordon tartan. Niggawitch,
please. More like grape jelly tartan with nein toast for 9 days, Hooogaan!
(The best part about saving all of my statements to the grand jury in the cloud is that I can label them all “Diedieannie” and no one minds at all, except... what was your name again? ⚡ FU (PROT)
I don't know how long your reading list is, and I'm guessing I'm right: it's going to be a while before I get to use the global communication system since I just had three reconnects during the middle of this one message and this was just one breath, grumble grumble grumble, come here and pull my strings until the noise a sailboat makes comes out, 📯🎺
I wrote this to my friend for his birthday—did not know it was his birthday until I came here to post it, because it wouldn't all fit in the Speak ’n’ Spell that I traded from ET last night for a fistful of magick beans and a few dollars more. Now, we're not that close, but I figured out a long time ago he was the head, private head d-i-c of the oversight team that OverWatches, among other things, the ignition switch on my car. It's a goddam mess, It all started when another man's rhubarb rubbed me... The next day after I told somebody else that I wasn't going to. Probably. And I didn't. Until 2 days later. Then in the middle of that, I called his mommy and asked about his girlfriend, who I did not know at the time he had told his mother was not his girlfriend. Long story short: he had to now has zero they still think about him and remember that I'm the guy who explained to how much of a dick he was, and
his birthday was
last week. Uhhhn. This was several months ago, but I bet it still stings, one of them is an Angel — like Archangel, not like Charlie — and the other one still calls me a n*****, Even though I didn't ejaculate and I haven't touched her since. I haven't seen her since. (She got fired.) War is hell.
I put the
fist in
pacifist. Happy Birthday, Motion “Loco” Motion! (Give yourself a raise.)
