And boost to the toasted marsh-swallows the gulped gunk of a coolio cappuccino at the Starbucks locality of caffeine-induced Brisk bunkers that I think and I thunk, I’m a thinking thin and hunky Playboy of Profits, as being that I was so able and so fortune-ate to reach beyond God Himself The Father The Creator at the edge of His universe, when I cursedly put myself THERE, THERE—at the utmost to butter that previously mentioned Toast, to The King with a choir doing the sing-ing when I signed papers of my Investments… a paved driveway all the way to the point is that I CARE—why I said I’m “there” to lend a helping Stock or Bitcoin to drain a nostril of me not yet a trillionaire, but I have stock advice for Daniel to party with Richard Branson—I saw on the news channels—because he’s a owner of a valuable company—billionaire—like me, but only if, and only if, I sold my Bitcoins at 69-thousand dollars, their peek, with the Radiohead song “Creep” that was my anthem with and without Tiffany—downgraded to a D+ with her having given birth—her first, fishing a fist on the reeling in with your wrist and writing of all HIGHLIGHTING the turn-some Timbers generating not only Lumber, but a generous Mexican holiday of me not knowing much of the Hispanics, the language cult-are fanny may Fanatics swishing with the wishing for Bruce Fenton—my Politician Friend of 2005-2007 and maybe beyond, like TO THIS DAY, I say “nice try at the election of it having happened through my own influence when writing “VOTE BRUCE FENTON FOR SENATOR!” on NASDAQ: “FB” my profits not yet seen, but with Low-Carb to keep me so lean—not tilted, no glasses to be squinting—like Squints — PLEASE BUY STOCKS FROM DANIEL M. BESSE AT MERRILL — I want my best of family to see, the abilities, of me and of mine, I DON’T DRINK! I HATE RED WINE! But I wish with the most lovely wishes for Dad to catch “Bass Fishes” and because I love white people, mostly, partying ways with the former-slaves, I wish that we could all be of the same skin color—but Dead and Smothered with cool-whip tick-tock around the clock at 11:30 pm with Saturday Night Live and Tina Fey chirping cocky jokes and when spinning wheels, on a car- a Tesla—for Lisa—at least a li’l financial contribution, peeping her disgusting fat ass from her laziness with two feet up, fishing for Perch and making purchases of “Butter”—she eats cold butter I have no idea why… Lisa S., do you really think you can get become thin ’n’ thinner but TONED with the fatty tissues—“screw it, she dose of doozy- she does it… plump plumbers-butt when Atilda the Hun—my Mom types to me “Hon”—and she and Dad and Aunt Donna Donohue and Justine “Tini Ara” Aragona—they get MY LOVE!
