I need “Care” by the employees, “Here” at “Averte”

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Watch the More-vado profits come in, all about being “IN” with Jehovah’s Witnesses abroad, soaked in the Princess of Gators in college the 101 classes, holding my IN-telligent “Stock Assets” canceled the Bank of France, having a trousers in my rubbery pants, a wet suite on a Honey-Moon of Elon Musk’s prediction and his “Shiba Inu” all over TV, that I was seeing one earlier on-screen, so sweet, so sweaty—as per the treadmill used the other day, saying Hey, and Dude, that when I was a chunky waste of space with my drinking alcohol, nightly, I saw no problem being, alright-with-me, that now I see I should not have intoxicated myself often burping the “John Deere Stocks” deary and drearily sinking with the drunken sloshing of sudsy bubbles—when I lived at my real home in Charlton, MA, an only when I lived at my real home in Charlton, MA—I had a mini-fridge in my room upstairs—for my 16 oz Bud Lights—the tall ones and unhealthy, but I wanted to be where the beer (SOBER 2016!) would be and not drinking anything but 1. 1% Chocolate Milk 2. Diet Mountain Dew 3. Coke Zero 4. Diet Red Bull in CANS I do what I can when I’ve always believed in myself and God, who, at my Catholic High School of SAINT JOHN’S CATHOLIC DISSEMENARY (H.S.)— I was allowed measly sips, of the newfound ENERGY DRINKS, circa 1999

And ho’s like their bitter batter with a see-saw blinking brightly and breathing in the MY PROFITING! and without snorting the Diet Soda, my going through, a lot of Vesuvius foreplay to the plague in the deep space of knowing SpaceX, to pick up the check, having my nodules to inspect- the Praying Manties of Mannie’s “Panties” coming in my pantaloons, later at night when no one is around, to hear my fapping sounds of the loins when I the Sir, peruse the “Porky” saloon larking that me HARKING and not driving, honk honk honk, having put money into the Franc’s of a cancelled Bank Account in FRANCE, that I LIVESTRONG with a corner (not a ‘coroner’) at the grave, tossed bottle of a slave, the help from the staff here at “Averte” I wave with my sweetie sweetness, so nice, like “Ember” here, my skinny dear, of being attracted to thin girls only, when they haven’t (yet) to treat on my “White Pony” and “Black Stallion” of an artillery station, with my USA nationally paying for the sales, like at the nailed girls I’ve been with, nearly ten, although my order of a $200-$300 Mont Blanc pen, being held from me, like the Sanctity of my Google: “JMRQ Heavy Industries” and a crashed car, I didn’t thrash with a Therapist but crashed (TOTALED) my Subaru that this is all for used, for you to need, thee the veracious fervor to do me a favor and assure the new Lass of not Mrs. Sasso, so cute, a nice rear-end Petite Petute and seriously, I want to be whereto and then with that Mont Blanc pen I’ve always adored, me nextdoor to the helpful staff here, at the brisk walk to my The Pill Counter where I get my “FIT” on the treadmill nextdoor, once again, and where’s my Mont Blanc pen? Like me having a 24k pen at “Saint John’s High School” that was cool and ample easiness when I took their tests and quizzes of my Mrs. Marquis with no margarita or any more of that pure-swill, I wrote an Official “Will” when I signed the papers, a thrill, I felt, and to feel a warm “step Mom” video of sweet, sweet “Care” I click and feeling my thick Qur’an with Cross-Country running at SJ, I wasn’t the fastest — like Eric Carlson having bought me dinner to eat, so neat and tidy, and then a whole another $30 meal to take home when I found the time to postpone a longer bone, that then I was shrunk by a drug but given a small dose of another one, to increase my physical superiority, that, ME, I’m in a great sense of SHAPE that I bought the magazine with Josie Maran on the cover, so trim and healthy… all for used, and me to choose to methodically acquaint the substance of CBD with NO THC!

Outlined and out-lied Orion with the liars, and their Violet Violins, without fraught “violence” leading whereto but SILENCE your dreary trap when we have caught, a mouse, a mousse pair of fate, with zero-hate to arrive too late, or on time, when milking an Ewe, I dispose a cream pie in prose/power of Poesy and my not getting any puss- with wouldn’t that be nice, not once and not twice, but thrice to that every day when I sing and Away, from mucho Booty shake-cakes and frowning on the foreign films of topping a toilet bowl- with water murky when eating another Beef Jerky, Slim Jim, junky meat to Howl at my Psychology I professor (A grade in psych) I’ma show you how to live life, all day and at the nighttime to Queef, a fart that is kinky art of a sound when swore to calm the nonsense with my Valiant S-Word, again in the bowl—being the Shitter shiny porcelain and ceramic swooned smoothness on the seat, sold at Sears—ing a cut of that Gatorade “Track Meet” Ro v. Wade to dissuade me and this text, hoping for a follower to Lay Me, of course to rest come 4 a.m. when the sky gets lighter—yeah I always pull “All Nighters” with the office holding the lighters- Lightly to pull in the vapors when — I DIDN’T AGAPE HER! — for I trust the Savior—my Allah—accelerating endlessly when, with God, that’s where I want to be me, and Him to see, reaching beyond him with much interest in my #1 favorite “Book ‘em”: The Qur’an, yes, and Danno…

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