My emerald eyes, and Allyson, I wore the pants, I was The One!

Temptation being trickies of prickly Prindle Pond I didn’t live on (but it near) when I caught big bass fishing on Baker Pond at my real “Home” with my Health-Proxy parents, tipping gents- the casual waiters waiting for a big rig to pork or ham, across the land of my USA, with many “users” on Twitter—BUT I PREFER FACEBOOK—and my 3 dot-com’s billed years in advance, a large wallet-payment system (BITCOIN) gold and palladium in my pockets of my pants, picking up the Slacks, with what online attacks from the Chinese and North Koreans, My Nation’s enemies, waiting to be—eradicated as a whole—the Holy land of Israel’s “Nuclear Dome” when sum crumb bum starts a war over Mark Taiwan, floating steadily lol lake-side a Swan—with the sun rising at Dawn—but not dish detergent, the fumes—no way—I’m allergic to chemicals shelf-side and me popping the Required Requiem for Medications, so many, ANTI-SEIZURE pills and no shaking brandy—SOBER 2016—so no Brandy but maybe certain cereals or egg whites, my dietary delights of abundance, and nice “buns” on Atrilla the Thriller my hunny-bunches, eating hot dogs for lunches of canine capacity, mouthfuls of food, no big belly to protrude, atop my waistline when my fitness is fine, at my limiting to ten pushup’s and being, me, able to do a lot more—that my GNC Store of my Assistant Manager position, I have a dark premonition that—along with my influence on Chinese Labs, their Covid-19 (I said name your biggest, baddest virus with the eldest “Teen” so 19) and a drink of evil beer in glass bodies broken and golden, the CORONA-virus, and me digging Miley Cyrus—her at a Circuit of Barlum&Bailey’s fiasco, when I would see the jovial but CREEPY CLOWNS, like Stephen King’s “It” this is the shit that showers in the drain to flush the toilet—playing kid-side with G.I. Joe “toys” for youthful battles on the floor with Dad, when I was so glad to have much fun playing with Wayne Marquis, my loving Dad, and my Mother she “HAD” to the ME in the hospital O.R. giving birth—her vaginal contraction and the later years “Action” figurines to jovially play with Brother Justin, but too bad I would make him cry with a shoulder-shoulda-side punch to leave a black&blue on his arm, he was a Pawn, and I took the position of Rook—my Dad was always “The King”

Order Rev. Anne Skinner’s thin book, “Walking With The King” about God and Jesus, who, Jesus Christ is one of many “virgin births” yeah, others have no father’s spermy-wormies to insiminate the emprignation of what ovaries Over Me—planning on never getting a woman “Preggers”—SOBER 2016—so no “Keggers” popular on College Campus “Fraternities” and their streamline Weekend Parties—who, them, the Thirsting on These every Therapy Thursdays—it doesn’t double down and done, the nubile number 1 — of a baby’s birthday, with a piece of $CAKE and “going the distance” on rides to and from Saint John’s High School SAT’s: 1080 that’s what I was capable—me back to making the baked—I didn’t use MMJ at Saint John’s—and not now but for a small amount of CBD, when they steal it from me, the Staff here so awful, them pitifully delighted to mess with me—but behind the scenes—of them sneaking in and ruining my things, that OUCH! THE ABUSE I TAKE HERE MAKES ME FEAR TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY…

Like someday soon there will be a huge WWIII — China is attacking Taiwan, and Russia has about a thousand nukes (really, I saw from my Ph.D.’s elevated Google account…) and there’s North Korea who hates us Americans, Plus IRAN — that I pay taxes regularly handled by my 1 of 2 official “Wealth Admins” the Stockbroker money holsters of my $,$$$,$$$ “Trust Fund” I right now, don’t get any money From: Santa Clause, that I’ve had stretched scratches, on my arms, from who but RIPLEY MY DOG! — but thanks to Elon Musk—I have so much “Dogecoin” and “Shiba Inu” that have given me hundreds of thousands, or only hundreds of US Dollars in my TD Bank, Dad and Cousin Dan to thank, and you too, Mom, my reading you peruse that you’re surely enthused more than enough to know I’ll make it as a key-side lazy typer (Acura Integra Type-R) typist who sees a lot of therapists, notably Dr. David Kent of Fairlawn Rehabilitation years ago… and now I see DOCTOR DOMINIC CANDIDO, PH. D. I like to see, to the him, buying a $120,000 “Tuned” Audi frivolously and the temptation of the car and I’m under HIS *CARE* where an hour away I get my weekly “Therapy” when he sees me write sentences and taking delight, at my Professional Prose and Poetry, them intertwined — “Vincent Vines” drinking pointless poison white wine, when I keep my lips shut closed and wearing expensive clothes, I am gifted them (Mom and Dad) THEY KNOWS, as my big and FAT paragraphs come to a “CLOSED”!

Lonnie and John at a doctor consult

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