I’m a JW and not much Islamic anymore, I shopped at the stoner-store once with NETA but no more MMJ, it’s Colonel I want to see, hiding his “bidness”

Feel the breezy-EASY air fresh of the zest with “Febreeze” to the bees knees and needing my parents to play the rents of my brother Justin and I… been without Ben sees, me living lonely and needing Homely Love of my hometown being THREE HOURS AWAY, so I can stay, here at “Averte” but not by the way BTW of BitTorrent yesterdays-  while singing the notes of Timmy Hays, his Mustang GT but way back at Saint John’s High School, I graduated from grabbing the C+ grades of my having paid “A” passed papers in Vocabulary with “ambulatory” stories of what’s within, my poor TBI brain, having been painted (acrylics) as me quote-unquote Insane, my brain, now multi-functional with me staring down straight at the urinal and not ever constipated the Constitution of Mr. Mulligan’s Construction with that bed-time book, and I’m not hooked on anything chemical like The Chemical Brothers great song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0S43IwBF0uM) not too long, not too briefs, abundant not anymore- like my towels THEY STEAL FROM ME HERE — and I’m so ever much-so a “John Deere” stocks of 2013 or 2014 history to read the anal-beads of dripping sweat my ass away from a shard of glass, that these motherfuckers of 2 girls having had stolen my sperm in 2004, a wet rag — these girls are younger HAGS, ripping off the Designer “tags” — so you’re IT the stinky sizzler at the swinging restaurant, sitting single, at a Colonel Booth business owner and no money laundering on a LOAN to her, me alone, a loner, with a sun-tan to take The Stand, a second and wait- the mind of AIM: Marquis Is King — that’s my brother who he is another, non-druggie, like me, and unbeknownst to me he, Justin — that this just in from the notes of a KIN-dle candle with my AIM: “Jeffrey Marquis” handle, now me without the pots and/or kettle-bells at the gym evoking a muscular heck of having injected my NECK — to bring out the best in IGF-1 LR3 that repaired the injured brain of me, to think of the cruising Santoprene on a Cisco tub of something sweet, and to EAT the pattied sang-which or which comes from above my Mother “Dove” the soap I use no longer — I’m loyal to Dr. Squatch one time seen on my screen, myself, along and alone with the news on CNN that advertised the soap for men, I gave a slice to Ben, here at “Averte” without Her the Ember of thusly this upcoming 55 days until XMAS presenting the mantle stocks of the socks through Mickey and The D’s not on Miss Desrosiers — did she use MY JACKED OFF SPERM, the hometown worn worms of my being sworn and switched, on that OH SHIT!  My panty-lines of wondering why they whine about the little eating that I do, staying in like a screw, of wet carpentry and a new carpet rug, I would choose to hug my dear, Elise, not Lisa because I frown upon her husband’s sex-change to beg for a few “Shiba Inu” cents, raising in my GREAT PROFITS, this Elon Musk he is just chillen with my years-ago dot-com to come along and take a treat, to eat of course, with Salmon tonight my usual pick of not my garbage down South with the oil of Texas Tex-Mex, for I, not having had sex in 3+ years, but not bringing my tears of NO FEARS —hating queer-folk queens to be so absurd sour upside ubiquitous this is ridiculous protruding unabated, and awaiting, the polymers on Train-ships the STATE HEAD INJURY PROGRAM — I learned how to stand upright and growing 3” taller in 2005 and 2000-six the insulin needle pricks, at my abdomen, to know the lingo and LET GO of the cuff of my collar as MY LIST OF HOLLER to waltz the wattage of what age up and over 21+ when feeling “The Flow” of me learning to lie about the internal instinct to be one only brief-laden soul, stirring-  once again kettle-bells of my shack-like stink of 2 in the pink, with a flowing Sink to Southern Sun (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UphfrPANJk) sung and hanging tough (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=By86PcLufOU) to kiss a Muff of muffled duffels in bags, left with sloppy-seconds on the Rag, to do as it’s this mix of a disc I bought (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJOeXh6HyvU) when its on to the top of the crow, and growing GLOWING so-so of having sotted-bereft of price to be scanned, and who remembers the femme-fatality at The Register’s girlie covers on magazines, to be seen, where I’ve been taking to a long time of my not drinking any wine SOBER 2016 with pretended pretense of Birthday Presence to be the Presetted Precious Presence of a person like Elon having a “Shiba Inu” (https://www.coindesk.com/price/shiba-inu/) pet to be patted, pasted and rattled with OH RATS, clambering in the Southern Sewer with me the stake-chewer choosing to be with such screen time, that once again-  I’m SOBER 2016 so ZERO SIPS OF WHITE WINE, the alcohol is all, declined, by my voice to say aloud, to my Poetry II class crown, a could-be grown crowd of my voicing body aloud, an awed, unseen and OWNED THE CROWD, on a waiting-time of Mount Monadnock “snow-boarding” at my school of sifted woodies, I remember History with Mr. Wood who professed, “DON’T BE ISLAMIC!”

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