Mowing the lawn while March-ing (20th) along with blades brazed and burdened, while chopping slicey dicey me remembering summer days of days forlorn, me not being scorned, and without Bull-horns — this while hoping and awaiting a wondrous “Bull Market” of stocks that tick to the tock and talking very serious, my nighttime Deedy’s deeds dripping a candle- when I said that hurts, the S&M pleasure/pain combo is so absurd, you have my word, my world of girls and one Jehovah’s Witness male, when, me smiling so pleasantly when Justine; Sopping up the syrup on her lips, or Peter’s lol he’s paying the price of sugar and spice with zero conversation since 2013 or 2014 — when I invested in all that’s nice, like $BONE rally on the market with a basketball hoop and in the city, those with my many Dogecoin—Aunt Donna you will profit—Money, Money, money money money, a mystery to me but for now- not causing any dismay, that this may bring you “misery” one last kiss from me, sealed on an envelope, that nope- I would mope without a Valentine, coming next month, and I’m in a hunch, so what to do without a sweetie-boo great girl of elated female-only pleasure for me, from here on out, I’m forced to go without a mouth of a man, a Jehovah breeder, breathing heavily and spitting out the passenger’s door in my car, away, and very far, all of those trips to see Peter, that we were only together once being one time only, to talk in the dark parking-lot that in the dark, well Hark! I pretended it was Laurie Gee I hoped to see, and I did, pro fo quid, and I quitting drinking all alcohol, and Dana was movie moving DVD’s boxed up- television, furniture, items that despite him moving, and breaking off things with Larissa Grivalds, pretty… a beautiful and pretty steamed Queen at the queeriest queer, who abused me in 2001 or 2002 all night long (!!!) I hate fat people,  and I hate fat men who wear thongs, singing songs about whatever else, butter in a heated pan, it melts and grills along the slick circus that the stove is set to a low, a temperature, the butter endures—like my butt endured a dick of mighty Misery—all night long—I’ve never worn a thong, thank you Jesus!, that, did Jesus ever wear a thong? I think not with the Christ-figure oh it figures he fought for what’s hot to trot, telling the truth, Jesus never impregnated a bitch, no hitch, no hutch, and I know he didn’t even now—now not even a little bit—he would be beaten like egg batter with a red-hot and smoking while playing Poker, of the utmost disdained Grey Goose ordered on Google, sips of noodles, and Poodle’s $BONE with Bismark and his keys (Google: “Biz Markie just a friend” when your XM reciever crackles, like I’ve never had any crack, keeping away from I wrote “MY CREDIT WILL NOT BE WHACK!” in 2006 with a luxurious Apartment of Chandler Gardens—located next to WSU—the library I perused and bare of The Qur’an—they only lent it to people with assignments of doctors and instructors, when me my voice is hoarse but no whores here and also NO BEER, SOBER 2016- I found Sobriety with A.A. only twice, that the clean and clear headedness, I have a lot of money, and to the Church I gave a mere two cents, last Christmas Ever with an autographed photo of, both, all three, Allah, Mohammed, The Messenger, adored by me!

Plenty pissed at the miffed dizzly days of raining, with a DRIZZLE, for shizzle, when all the Blacks, my writing about my shiny white skin, I attacks- and them with panic attacks, but not I, for I have Xanax providing relief, it at my side… Horses’ Stride with me not chewing gum, Tried Dent—my ruined 2001 vehicle—it mangled and dented, I tried them at Duddie for handing me a flop, of a car fit for a poor Jan at the Door, being. a High School “Janitor”—the teachings of Islam at Saint John’s—I want them some more!—that I miss Allah and Justine, once her being 18.5 years old in 2009, oh it’s been a long time to carry on with a marbled hum of me the one, craving sex for a vagina’s sake—pork-loin and steak—that dinner tonight, well, the chicken I find delight in my tight belly, spraying on Polo Blue, the cologne is pleasant- it’s so smelly in an alright spritz of what mice and me- the mince-meat and the O-Zone (XXX) being under the pollution of it having to DEPLETE!

Photos of me and Justine, I “deleted them” after defeating her Dad, him so sad, but recovering from Depression—Dan and Linda—I miss them like Linda in my car and in the shower—after I kissed her—I kissed Justine’s Mom and she clicked, KISS JEFFREY BACK! Twice I’ve advanced (chillen) on ladies in limbo’s, a couple LIMOSUINES, and closed the window—me being with Laurie Gee, that was so pleasantly FIT like feeling her taking me in—she’s married but her husband said it was fine—I didn’t have any alcohol… she carried a large glass of white wine, out to my limo, and her not “topping me off”—making me climax of my own, looking at her face and the rest, of a rear-seat limo “Head Rest” — go get my jollies on the highway that I MISS DRIVING VERY MUCH AND THEN SUCH SLURPING ACTION IN THE DARK, WE WERE PARKED, WHEN LATER I, STOPPING AT “MOBIL” OR “SHELL” — I learned to speak in 2004 — as my vocal carried rods were so unresponsive and actually, “Paralyzed” left side of my body, scars like craters that who is greater? : The Creator or Allah?

I’ll go with Allah.

I’ll definitely go with Allah.

“The Creator” is a real “Illusion” a legitimate hologram, I reached BEYOND HIM!

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