Chin-Up’s in Phys Ed at Saint John’s! those were the days…

Slowly alike to sink the swimmer- that helps Michael Phelps of years ago popularity and the lit-joint belonging to him, its disparity, he partied a bit, taking a bad bite of the “special made” home-cooked psychedelic BROWNIES—and I frowning, but not about Mike—I’m frowning that Lance LIVESTRONG had his metallic ornaments taken away, honest with Opera about his knowing anabolic substances too well, that the sweat smells in small bits—the droplets and on your knees, my needs of a 2nd “Booster” of the roasted China-virus now waging war, I want NO MORE ^__^ kekeke AZN mess, totally distrust and sucking discussed (DISGUSTED BY ASIA!) when a wage is paid and being a broad land-mass, eating bats and rats and rice of loud muffled Honda’s—not so fast, when furious futures planned with President Xi—a pussied “she”—when oh shit, this is it, when I try to distinctly type my gripe with when I hope the “homeland” isn’t targeted and hit, with a rebuke, I’m going to puke… at the popping sound of MANY BALLOONS!

Asians and their lipstick and makeup, I fuss about the “Beauty”

Chinese balloons and Saturday Morning Night Live “Cartoons”

The neat sheets having used a Sheik (form of protection) and latex strong, soft, and delicate but so weak, all week long, wish wish, and gifted with the delightful light of sun’s, rays, shining down and again wishing for a raise at the workplace of office Microsoft and Word, jotting junk when bored-  like me with what you view, through and through, sentences askew with a few Xannies in my medical are-senile of accredited “Medz” to the reading of no magazines but wholely February holiday, The Qur’an 7/10th’s through the book, fishes hooked on Molly, being wholely absorbed under the tongue (Sublingual Absorbed) and shun the E, the X, the acid rain, puking into a sunk through the drain, and drifting delinquently perspiring greatly—preparing to shake all the way to the get-go, you know?

How’s a house without a bi-sexual Spouse to spoon, goes Elon Musk to the moon but at a later date, when I hope for a date with who, too, we will Mate on a Playboy “play-date” of fun-time with my rhyme-ing to the spent near pennies, me in tears… and rippers in my trousers to whip mine out, stick it in the clique of Lacey Chabert in Mean Girls, a la Lindsey Lohan with that right-side digital grabbing at me what’s bragging and swagging, a hot poker, playing the Ace—yeah pulling an Ace with a Bicycle Deck of cards—and what’s this thin bit about NFT playing-cards?  Hence, I — the Bitcoin Whale at a trial between my legs, snacking and bragging “BIGLY” with where my TD Bank is hidden from me—and we will see, sometime soon, did you know there’s a third Chinese balloon?

To the soap and on a rope, for me no way- going a ways between shower times to wash every third day or so with the unmotivated, I, who, me, I’m afraid of falling in the shower- slipping sudsy with The Bubbly belches of my hardly ever, to sweat, me sweet enough to stay skinny a la my low-carb dieting of tossing with away the paper plate dishes, recognizance of Tricia from Shrewsbury yeah her so skinny and mini but tall and her waist, so small, titties nearly non-existent, too, with her boozing while I drove 45 minutes away to Charlton, MA of the hey-day that’s ninety (90) minutes commuting a day to the S to the J of Saint John’s clamor of neckties’ glamour with sport-coats and dressed up, the pricey Doc Martens shoes, when at the dances feeling under-boobs of itty-bitty bitches, and in the dark when dancing and prancing for the floozy ho’s who they all KNEW how us Saint John’s boys were fancy, so we would dancing

Beat up to the jingle of an upper-class jungle. Mr. Bungle, and avoiding available turmoil—of Oil Rich Nations (of Islam) to replicate the shirts of buttoned-up with suicidal showering together, showing dicks aside, so snide, my remarks of HARK! to swim with the fishes of Mark Cuba-n on “Shark Tank”—Bitcoins and Dan B. to thank, him having had lunch with Brother Justin—stepped aside from my “Justine” Tini Ara of when I would be ‘a’ staring straight stride right to smoosh every night, oh the cavities—I say “Please” and “Thank You”—want to speak aside pulled, I mentioned stripped-bare “Stride” in the Ide’s of March to the 20, when twenty, days into… I’ll be 41 years old, still in my prime from what I rhyme to be, for me, the one who was once, maybe, in-to brought-up “protein peptides” that once again, Stride!

With of course- me feeling the Saint John’s Catholic School “Pride” with the one-eye or two, too, when I sprint along the grassy knoll with no weed to, ever, sold and/or be selling this green KY gel and/or my arm-pits smell when I stick with Gillette underarm cleansing, for a lack of stinky slinky smelling, perusing a women’s Saline ensembled DD melons, in tears with minced onions- Funyuns for when the, oh lol, the fun times of going for runs, Handicapped with a phat lip and if you catch my drift, this be the rift of a marshy wild river—running through the lands—while I try to do a hand-stand but I lay to waste a sticky paste when the spotter watches me falter upright to assist my stumble, the Bumble of a bees silly banter—me laughing at the group of decades ago—The Black Panthers…

But my Dad tells me that 99% of the population aren’t racist—when I proudly, loudly shout my ethnic cleansing of wondering how could I feel good about myself in marriage with a Negress packing heat—that’s why I hate The Streets, opiate freaks and the boozed up homeless junkies, like those hardly- being with white skin, from England or France, I hate those who wear baggy jeans with bullet holes, packing heat and hitting a blunt, when a black and a white, they fight, and the white wins knocks down the negro—although and but at which point, the black—sorry I shouldn’t say black, so let’s say, “AFRICAN-AMERICAN” he pulls out a pointed .357 Magnum and kills whitey…

So the moral of the story is—DON’T BE A RACIST!!!!! =D

American imports and Sandals Resorts- when it’s come to this… that I want you all to look at my teeth how white they were in previous years, when I had enough enamel to have showed my brightly shone teeth and buttered tippy-toe shoes, never bruised or battered with the pitter-patter of Cake Batter rats, they scatter, and China has one or more balloons that haven’t made the news, this when I still haven’t gotten my mailed-in and nailed-in to my right wrist, my writing fists of pecking to be “Oh that TYPE!”

Hi Elissa Victoria, BIG FAN RIGHT HERE!!!

Hi Elissa, I’ve been following your videos for many years, one of my online very favorite females <3 girls and I think I was inspiring you to do video’s when you were new to MySpace and I liked cars that were fast — you were a fan of drifting on only other people’s videos because you didn’t especially like the smell of tire smoke whereas I dig burnt rubber — I have seen your erotic videos — what happened to Ethan? I am maybe worth $$,$$$,$$$ if Dan sold my Bitcoins at their highest, and I’m going to watch your new videos I’ve never pleasured myself to your nudes and videos — what happened to Ethan? — I bought you gifts on Facebook, that I BOUGHT $10 X 3 so $30 in Facebook Gifts and I’ve had a lot of viewers on my 3 dot-com websites I have in my Bitcoin Bitchain like a password investing millions of dollars into Bitcoin in 2013 or 2014, plus I’ve talked to Elon Musk for 40+ minutes in 2005 and Bruce Fenton who ran for Senator of NH nextdoor, after many hours on the phone and video chats in 2005 and 2006 — he had a Bitcoin logo in his office at his really nice house — I said to him, one of the first times we talked on the phone “Can I take a vacation to you a couple hours away and sleep on your couch?” that he said no he had a spare bedroom I would sleep in if he wanted to meet me, that I felt so great about knowing a FENT-on Bruce FENT-on because I predicted the rise of Fentanyl I’ve never taken, but I knew someone who was addicted RIP so I thought he’d be so popular, before our first phonecall I wrote “VOTE BRUCE FENTON!” and then I wrote “VOTE BRUCE FENTON FOR US SENATE!” and his friends messaged me saying, don’t tease, but I knew FENT-on would be popular because I had belonged to about drugs, that I didn’t do Ecstasy, only a couple times decades ago in 2002 — there was a Moderator who had great text about Fentanyl and Heroin, that he said “Duragesic” patches were great to squeeze out the gel — and put that in MICRO-grams — I invested in Microsoft, Amazon, Tesla, John Deere, GameStop, Apple, etc. etc. about 20+ stocks that I knew would be worth so much in the future — I learned money from my Dad and Economics at SAINT JOHN’S HIGH SCHOOL, class of 2000, but I don’t like to talk about SAINT JOHN’S HIGH SCHOOL because I was sexually assaulted with him conning me into doing him in his butt ON THE DRUG HE SAID HE COULD GET FOR A FUN TIME! I told him I wanted to TRIP and, NOT TWEAK! but he couldn’t get anything else, as per a friend begging me to get in touch with him — and he was at his mother’s house in Worcester, MA that I was going to QCC after failing Computer Science — I’m a writer I WROTE ABOUT HIM ON MY http://WWW.JEFFREYMARQUIS.COM and I wrote this: that I love females the most but single now and I don’t want to be with any mothers! I have a TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY from 2004 on my — I know you’re into cars I HAD A 2004 SUBARU WRX, that went 0-60 in 5 seconds and I had 7.5″ Z-rated 225/35 Yokohama ES100’s that gripped really well but I slipped on wet leaves going 64 mph with a side air-bag, and although I’ve loved you since you turned 21, I’m not into your “Mom Bod” Do you remember chatting on the phone for a long time each call, in the evening, and you always made time for me, because I communicated with a lot of new companies and people when I was SOAKING UP PITY FROM MY INJURIES, bragging, I’m a TBI “Survivor” and 1 month in the I.C.U. and tell Elon Musk to call me or my older cousin Dan so I can hear about my Subscription to Bitcoin Magazine and I haven’t talked to my cousin Dan the stockbroker in years, that, I know my parents have my Stocks — I bought hundreds of thousands of Bitcoins or only 1 Bitcoin when they were less than $1000 a piece, so I told him to put a “Reservation” on the 250+ MPH “Tesla Roadster” online, but I think he blocked me online because my Public Ledger has the big picture — take more topless! lol jk — of what I’ve had for a NEAR-death injury in 2004 when my enemies, friends, parents, co-workers, Minister, and many others caused my very bad injuries — I don’t have a “Criminal Record” but I’ve been to maybe 5 mental hospitals and it’s because I’m dancing in space with Allah THAT I’M A GREAT CHRISTIAN AND ROMANCING A.N. IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL BECAUSE WE WERE ALLOWED TO SLEEP IN THE SAME BED, that I enjoyed, and she was nice, we talk on the phone, etc. and I’m single, probably richer than you, but I only get a couple hits on my English with “A CONCENTRATION IN WRITING” A- Poetry II, B+ Creative Writing “A” Psychology that Dr. Brandi Scruggs the teacher, she liked my brain-injury and I scored an “A” because I have a TBI and on a certain “date” in 2006 or 2007 we were on a “DATE” I called it and she said, “Yeah this is sorta like a date.” And she was glad that I liked her for being so smart knowing about medicines that I HAD 2 or 3 “SEIZURES” post-TBI so injured, with a drilled in feeding-tube in my gut, my stomach that was very thin post-TBI until I started drinking beer at home THAT  I’M SOBER IN 2016! no sips in 2.5 years! Add me on Facebook or send me an email because I love your beautiful face and chest, that I’m sorry your “Mom Bod” has caused me to only want to see you from the waist-up! =) I’M A HUGE AND HUGER, JUST SOOOOO, HUGE *FAN* OF YOURS! and the reason why I’ve written you so much is because I’ve spent many hours of watching you since you lived with your Dad — THAT I PRAY FOR YOUR MOMMY IN HEAVEN, wow those neck tattoo’s are amazing — YOUR MOM WOULD BE SO PROUD OF YOU! GOD BLESS HER! GOD BLESS YOU! that is all because in 2005 I looked up attractive vlogging girls and who I knew, they would make it big and I had one of my 3 dot-com’s link to your blogs and my phpBB online, that I made it pink — I’m not a gay guy and it looks like you’re into girls now — years after that phpBB in pink, I’d write about my “TBI RECOVERY” — hope you don’t get into a car accident and love the CORVETTE C6!

Chinese Buffoon

Withered the weather be about what-not, being to play or to plot the much sought-after whatabout wherever to the ut-most highest- the literal and figureative peak of what I speak in text—with so many viewers THANKS—and what a mystery of and for the tick-talk hard as a rock in the stone-crusted Mr. Mustard retard fool, SPED classes in school

My Donna


My Aunt Donna

Oh thee who are caring for me so jump in the aire because my shattered left hip now fixed when my walking as of Stride, me feeling the Saint John’s pride, talking betwixt, a kiss on the lips, and I’ve told you about the drilling taken-place—and my left hip—beaming me with whatnot but a request of Allah to take me too, the edge of space, Allah and I tied, I’ve been tried, all the way to the edge—and in a smitten smidge of reaching beyond God, in 2013 that what alive and waking- me not taking any of the awful bullshit here — twice I’ve been hit in the face here at “Averte”— and once pushed down backwards—plus I’ve been assaulted and battered, to the pitter-patter get addled, boat with two paddles, car with 2 pedals, the pediatric doctor—causing the enlengthening of lovingly living longer, suggesting plenty of exercise with working out is hard(er) when running a GNC store, and easier- to do one’s (my own) abilities to increase the intensity on an incline 3% treaded shoes on the fine absorbing beats of earphones, then calling Mom on the phone—come pick me up—I was once hopeless with many hiccups, literally, always imbibing beers constantly with what to be, me a pathetic drunkard, cured with A.A. and FIVE trips to Psych. Wards!

I love my parents!

See my Google: “JMRQ Heavy Industries” oh please check it out!

Pitch a tent street-side to drift and stride, so zero “rent” with my Mom and Dad who’ve moved me away, years ago—that’s many days—and a few years, albeit as it may, to the, me, the eye of the tigress testing the what water does drip, drink from the sink, put that on paper with a squid’s ink, black, dribbling like swaying silk, that I go through so much 1% chocolate milk, without any alcohol, to drink, tick-talk

A better and more better—being or away that’s more gooder—ahem, WRITER, I be, and all about me and my life, of TBI’s relentless strife, but never falling on scissors, step-sister’s, of what came and become, homeless change for a numb bum, with a keepsake kiss on each cheek, maybe every day of the strong living I do, and all be bye-ing and buying (Bitcoin) to the Southern Sun… fully within and without that “Comfort” aka SoCo, I eat the Puffs of chocoletey goodness, bereft, that I always skip breakfast!

So quit it fast or I will be the last thing upon your nilly mind, when I’ll back-side up-slap the critter crap out of one’s bitter and tiny crevist, all the way in- up to my wrist, pulled fist—being somewhat shitty, when abused and sexually molested, that Alex requested the methamphetamine, all his dream of drugging, and him and me doing the deed of Mr. Deedy, our being greeted with a lot of hugging—and me miffed when Alex gave him a kiss on the lips and he thrusted his hips into Mr. Daddy—all alone with parents who didn’t speak English—although Michelle is beautiful and normal—Alex was abnormal, him a mere steroid-freak mortal, with whatnot but some snorted crystals—sorry I missed you my loyal readers, being stirred and stirring… yeah the egg-beaterz, and pulling “heaters” at the seat of the crime—his and my behinds, outright assaulted of intellect, when I was a little, only lightling umm erect and bereft of pleasure when I choose to feel breasts on ladies’ chests—I wish for the best of aughtright intellect withstanding, I haven’t slipped in the shower lately, thanks to the hand-railing… the Water drips me ailing like it’s raining it’s pouring and post-haste I be asleep and stored (but not stoned!) loudly and louder snoring, when my writing becomes boring, just over and over and on/and or ON when I think of Sean both seeders leeching, and beached- that whale in the news, me up early/late at this date of females being brewing and hairy, got me staring with what “Cares” caressed a needle found best, on the DJ’s turntable of vinyl records, that me with no criminal activity, always here at “Averte” and feeling a proclivity to have a big-tittied tramp and trapped her here, with my lockened door—I need chocolate milk and Monster no-carb drinks and to drink, aha them, when I’ve ordered a $315 Mont Blanc pen, being un-recieved, should I order one again?

Chinese air-balloons and meek comedy fools!

Live with a liquid to try the finest of the fine dining but cut to a spelled scallop lollipop, of the top’s arial awareness of Finesse lotions, the potions of planted motions—standing tall—heifer Hoover vacuum with the maid coming soon, to be revealing and reveling, a Revelation being a sink-full of silver spoons, To The Moon and taking a hit when this is it—I don’t have MMJ and I need the CBD “gummies” that oh shit—calling cattle to get addled, sitting in a slunken cow’s saddle, or a calf albeit do what is aft, to you, with what but a buttercup singing salty, without the herald of her and I… well here comes the Disabled ambling of “scramby”-eggs of ovaries sitting still, in the stomach-abdomen lower within, the also lower the chest of nutter-butter cookies, so fancifully astounded with what three-hundred-and-sixty comes at the umpteenth degree Amen.

“Hot For Teacher!” =)

Testing of Scantron sheets in Psychology I with my legitimate grade of an “A” and a fully-legit “Date” with the Professor, flirting with her Ph. D. magistrate the magestical Dr. Brandi Scruggs, out night ending with tight hugs and her buns to grab with her reply, “You really want an “A” doing the deed of what I needed to superly surpass the rest of the class” and with my genuis antics, diswayed and dissuaded from taking the class for real, for real!

This “Date” we had was a “deal” with us splitting the bill 50/50 for her to know I wasn’t swooning her, until we spooned in my back-seat Subaru Legacy, when I would say, “I really want sex with you—her the 2nd teacher I was intimate with, and her not too old, but the truth be told, I smoozed and sh-boomed Sabina’s parents into allowing us sex, to be had which made me so glad to fuck 3 girls at once, my hunch, being sweet to have them beat my sweet-natured “stance”—me proud of Lance Armstrong with 2 LIVESTRONG bracelets I keep on 24/7 with hopes of IGF-1 LR3 that accelerated my “TBI Recovery” so I see and me to own BRK.B “stocks” $311.73 along the Amber and Able “Ember” her happy with me, without smooches or intimacy, with her I’d like to be, but only tempo-rarily because I’ve dedicated my heart to Justine Aragona, laying still for about 8 or 9 hours!

Driving side-ways on high-ways to wept for the inept mentally retarded gud spellars taint smellers of oh say hey to the month of, Fe-brue-ary all artsy fartsy tasting fuscia paint, right Pookie my child-hood kitten feline, content and in-concert with the concentration of Friskies, yes, in her “Dish” of dry-food and not to be rude, my Mom would buy []Dookie “Nine Lives” kittie food, moist and swollen, yes being circular among the mucus coughty-cough-cough spring in a Pup for the pockets to be jingling, penny a piece, bitches yeast, tomorrows turkey stuffed with some stuff like French bread white bread, white needing to Rid The Mexicans, so shoo- and scram, the baker sneezes, and oh Bejeebers it’s Justin but breaded and never having breeded, like Beebs- that’s Sir Justin Bieber who is not to be confused with my Justine Aragona lover and relationship we had of love and happiness with passion galore, kissing in stores, that, UNO’s our favorite restaurant, I would flaunt her here and there and doing it everywhere—except on a toilet—like that one time I dropped a Dime and a woman who had imbibed too much rotting rum, and she said, “Nice Bum!” while I picked up a Nickle and said, “Thanks, you should see my pickle green and to be seen—I keep the cucumbers with toenail vetted vultures, of all collections and corrections, there own old Cultural Withstanding!” because I have demanded some CBD, at a moment and delivered a la Carissa, so relaxed and enthusiastic, I be, all me, testing wits between the sheets, which Tom Brady would wear “cleats” and pleated pants, Giselle and him- watch them dance and hump too tee Dumpty was sitting on a wall, at which point he FELL- then shitting his knickers, yeah how embarrassing, that sticky-icky spangled smell and STENCH, now, Brady retired, so he takes the bench, to be a warmer soul akind to Giselle, who, well, she smells too but of pretty perfumes, the air-freshener in the bathroom, by the toilet—and here’s where it gets a bit too them bowels, washing one’s hands with tanned towels, Giselle smells like roses—the flowers—Fecal Transplants of internet powers, ahem, internally to be “negroe” female with “A Weave” by chicken tenders—blacks love to munch upon their “Shie-cken” in a drumroll ceremony of slobbering this those big fat NEGRO LIPS, with 40-ounce malt liquor sips, to gulp the bequeating sweet sweaty liquid to get a buzz—Blacks fear “The Fuzz”—was he a Bear—malt liquor St. Ides beer you queer ass wussy, scraping the Friskies pet the female and feline buddy, the “pussy” of Caterbillar machines banking billions in constructive electronics—BEWARE HYPER-SONICS!


Stay too feet with the baked meat at the Bakers on my “Banker Pond” but shopped and full won what’s undone to become-ing the combed hair combined to act so awfully snide, when pants are wide, around the ankles of one valid person—not an old “Invalid” of sickness—when my writing be the thickest third-leg of a D. to drill with a bright blue pill—or be it Pink and shrunk—little girls (21+) on the Birth Control—with a substance not to be imbibed, a beauty bride slicking slinging with the K-Y Jelly purple lips are smelled and off-key odorous, the pores of Lisa Ling-Ling, as the Chorus sings off the waxy maize of one’s fitness-ambitions to skinny up and trudging long footsteps, walking the baby Pup, Rudger and Oliver of EVOO sold with cement sneakers—then sunk—lake’s bottom—to “Sleep with the fishes”—The Soprano’s I misses the Tony big-boss with a daughter named Meadow, to the, Soprano, how keen and her now, dressing fully obscene with string-tied undies to wear, without a care in the world—yes, this “Jamie-Lynn Sigler” a personal favorite when doing what’s right- and at night, and at no cost but a latex later wrapper like my “Wrapped Bitcoin” oh the loins, porked, of lions being King, while the chorus sings a note, of a TTYL and expecting a response sometime LATER ALLIGATOR!

I was subjected to my Saint John’s High School teacher showing me his worn cock-ring after school, and I was a fool to think he wouldn’t lick his lucky lips that years later, he begged for peckers and soft kisses on his lips, fat hips, him as a sort of “hint” I didn’t think he would try-anything sexual with me !!!!! circa credited in 2001 from my Saint John’s Class of 2000 that it wasn’t long before I was urged to find drugs through my SJ English teacher! club drugs- harder than reefer!

I’m not a faggot! I love women and I can’t wait to marry a “choice” bride to walk side-by-side, only with her, and only with her, or with her show-stopper Mom who’s about my age, that I was with my girlfriend and her Mom at different times, not involving them together except once that’s one time only, not a fantasy… instead something you’d see on the scuzzy crumb-bum interweb!

Here’s a little True Story I have to tell, that I didn’t go alone, to his house of his mother’s almost his own, I’ll tell it, I seemed to ignore but the not smelling it, his pierced nipple-rings as an Orgasmic “Orchestrated” call it, I was serenated and date-rape’ed 2001 that, time spent, it amounted to fear and it was no fun, intruded penis bare and him naked haired, out the one window, I gazed but focused my STARE for critical resulting not in releaved to be bereaved—I have no business with anything sort-of dangerously, I dare the Drug Abuse Resistance Education to entice the young boys, with this: “If you ever encounter a homosexual Teacher, beware—he’ll wear big cock-rings to school, so sit in the front-row you know, with the faggot fuck—never to “DO”—his cock-ring will be noticeable!

All of them, they hailed the hours of a special and spherical ball to bounces as soon as a NETA customer buys an ounce of green, there, in Northampton, MA, I haven’t been seeing in-store whatmore one comeuppance of the credit-card of Credence sipping seltzer—and melt your wallet!

MY TEN BITCOIN WALLETS! $$,$$$,$$$ I hope when I soak in the suds of Pantene Pro-V to ensue a snare of the doofus’es using the smoked “Fent…” that’s dull dreams and null to me, never smoking PCP or Ecstasy, that I was too great for that high-style without a care. That “Fent” is this: How I found a man my friend, recently running and for Senator of New Hampshire, I said in 2005/2006 to him, I want to sleep on your couch!

That he offered me a guest bed, being Alas, instead of that party pro-passing out on a couch! armwrests ouch on the knees, that a political “Public Figure”—that’s what I need, and with what my next girlfriend who, 1 time each monthly lunar cycle she bleeds and needs chocolate somethings, when I say, HERSHEY’S KISSES FOR YOU SWEETIE-BOO that booming outright boobies coming au naturel as partisan and possibly disapproving of a botched sugary surgery in the mid-thirties, then, all of a nine-months SUDDEN she has her own, a baby thirsting for the Formula in a vanilla form of what suffices to be the primo choice of IFBB competition what enlarged stomachs on the sincere bodybuilders in fear of testing positive for banned substances, like minuscule additions of the nor-androgen 1-AD or even the M1T that comes in pills or shots—that bodybuilders wasting effort with and if they’re still up and running, that oh I forgot about a bid-ness I’ve seen success with their promo, emphaSIS-tering to the Step-Mom of 40’s yeared and puremature and that familial treason, of my Mom and Dad, I have much reasoning for knowing that they are still in love! And sitting sedentary in the stationary of a Return Address Cardinal sticker, for letters and the “Averte” bills of Medicare takes clearance for my pills, my meds while albeitso I get a large shot a higher-dose of what I knows to be legit and Holy Shit, every 3 weeks I get a butt shot of it, the HALOperidol I feel good about it early on excited, but I exited Dr. Benjamin’s office yelling—he put me in a mental hospital for like 8 months or some shit, me been to hospitals SIX TIMES and me Sober what’s the weather up in North America—oh, I know, the snowy shadows of footprints and an intru-door’s wrench to pick the key, taking away most of what I see, in my GET-UP ’N’ GO to the store to buy me more or of what I’m abiding to my promise of not taking any workout supplements or vitamins or creatine or Vitamin C, B, D, etc. the pills of Xanax, yeah I take them steadily about the Space of every six or seven hours, and I like my eggs—whites 1 yolk—poking and prodding to the pathetic patients here, who, Toffee for them Fatties, so path-bound when making sounds more-so the muttering on un to the dare your breath to make things right, that I have the best place here, people snooping on me—they’re always near, here, where I fear the fairy bullshit with my enjoyment of a who I implore him to make sure all is well with writing on the wall, he’s big and tall—Facebook profiles, that Space took it all out of me, alongside humping her for about 7 or 8 hours to I See The Light(est) pantyhose, house of Hugh Heff my 1/2 “Aliases” is Jeff and then “M” no period I made sure they fixed their syster’s stem cells to alter the Alias (and female body…) NOT TO HAVE PERIODS, oh I wish, that crimson wave of saying hey, I’m bloated and sick to my stomach today, because the females have tried it all, tall or small, that MAY I SUGGEST “MIDOL” of Barbie minus the menses of a men-straightly raising the really chocolatey coated- Raisins, the Cocoa bean of where I’ve been stressed indefinitely to have a prude and so non-privileged, with an old car Vanity was absent, and not only did she have a semi-decent job, she gave me a blowjob only 1 time only, that once, and I made it easy for her, hands to myself, that she screamed “GROSS!” and spit out my seeds of oral needs a’plenty and full amount from that little cutie—I thought there wouldn’t ever be another Allyson, my mate of 2004- her imploring me to drive faster and faster, making me worry about DUI (forced upon me!) when at the Leicester Police Station a small crowd of close-one’s screamed, “What are you dumb?” and wouldn’t you know it they insulted my having-been legitimately “RAPED ALL OF MY BODY SPIT WITH BROWN SHIT ON MY JOHNNY HO, it enslaved in what but covered in it, a deeply disturbing, Mr. John Deedy abusing me and this was when Saint John’s found out through many, people, students, faculty members, and then, he was fired from his longtime job teaching English and then Theater when I graduated, he called me “well educated” to be the complete-opposite of “Sedated” that his methamphetamine caused such amped up ELATION, pontification, and AI’s development in the news I see, like Bill Gates buying extremely high amounts of FAR-OFF FARMLAND:

40/M/VT, TBI, Single, Google: “JMRQ Heavy Industries”

so let’s “Do the Dougie” with Kate Upton!:

I wrote in 2005, “The last couple times Britney has ‘Hit Me’ have been precisely lackluster” who her I don’t want her anymore- yeah, she’s not “A Must Have Her!”

Tempered “Techtonic Paper-Plates”

And pots and bakery pans, when frying up summa dat sweet treated meat and

Seared Caesarian Scrars wherewithal being at Sears—it’s Britney in Spears of audacious fame, that since, then, when, well, look, and read a book written by Britney

Oh I know, Kim Kardashian did it better for A PENTAGONIAN’S “HOUSE” of remaining riled up and in a cinch, dressed up with drizzling cow’s milk, to think, what a Britney Book Job, read above and click the links to pink and pick a book by Britney Spears—SHE REALLY STINKS!

But alas, Britney Spears, what a class act! FREE BRITNEY! AND FREE ME! that yeah, FREE ME! as my parents have “A CONSERVATORSHIP” OVER ME, IT’S TRUE: THEY WENT SO FAR AS TO BE, FOR ME, MY “HEALTH PROXY” !!!!!