Testing of Scantron sheets in Psychology I with my legitimate grade of an “A” and a fully-legit “Date” with the Professor, flirting with her Ph. D. magistrate the magestical Dr. Brandi Scruggs, out night ending with tight hugs and her buns to grab with her reply, “You really want an “A” doing the deed of what I needed to superly surpass the rest of the class” and with my genuis antics, diswayed and dissuaded from taking the class for real, for real!

This “Date” we had was a “deal” with us splitting the bill 50/50 for her to know I wasn’t swooning her, until we spooned in my back-seat Subaru Legacy, when I would say, “I really want sex with you—her the 2nd teacher I was intimate with, and her not too old, but the truth be told, I smoozed and sh-boomed Sabina’s parents into allowing us sex, to be had which made me so glad to fuck 3 girls at once, my hunch, being sweet to have them beat my sweet-natured “stance”—me proud of Lance Armstrong with 2 LIVESTRONG bracelets I keep on 24/7 with hopes of IGF-1 LR3 that accelerated my “TBI Recovery” so I see and me to own BRK.B “stocks” $311.73 along the Amber and Able “Ember” her happy with me, without smooches or intimacy, with her I’d like to be, but only tempo-rarily because I’ve dedicated my heart to Justine Aragona, laying still for about 8 or 9 hours!

Driving side-ways on high-ways to wept for the inept mentally retarded gud spellars taint smellers of oh say hey to the month of, Fe-brue-ary all artsy fartsy tasting fuscia paint, right Pookie my child-hood kitten feline, content and in-concert with the concentration of Friskies, yes, in her “Dish” of dry-food and not to be rude, my Mom would buy []Dookie “Nine Lives” kittie food, moist and swollen, yes being circular among the mucus coughty-cough-cough spring in a Pup for the pockets to be jingling, penny a piece, bitches yeast, tomorrows turkey stuffed with some stuff like French bread white bread, white needing to Rid The Mexicans, so shoo- and scram, the baker sneezes, and oh Bejeebers it’s Justin but breaded and never having breeded, like Beebs- that’s Sir Justin Bieber who is not to be confused with my Justine Aragona lover and relationship we had of love and happiness with passion galore, kissing in stores, that, UNO’s our favorite restaurant, I would flaunt her here and there and doing it everywhere—except on a toilet—like that one time I dropped a Dime and a woman who had imbibed too much rotting rum, and she said, “Nice Bum!” while I picked up a Nickle and said, “Thanks, you should see my pickle green and to be seen—I keep the cucumbers with toenail vetted vultures, of all collections and corrections, there own old Cultural Withstanding!” because I have demanded some CBD, at a moment and delivered a la Carissa, so relaxed and enthusiastic, I be, all me, testing wits between the sheets, which Tom Brady would wear “cleats” and pleated pants, Giselle and him- watch them dance and hump too tee Dumpty was sitting on a wall, at which point he FELL- then shitting his knickers, yeah how embarrassing, that sticky-icky spangled smell and STENCH, now, Brady retired, so he takes the bench, to be a warmer soul akind to Giselle, who, well, she smells too but of pretty perfumes, the air-freshener in the bathroom, by the toilet—and here’s where it gets a bit too them bowels, washing one’s hands with tanned towels, Giselle smells like roses—the flowers—Fecal Transplants of internet powers, ahem, internally to be “negroe” female with “A Weave” by chicken tenders—blacks love to munch upon their “Shie-cken” in a drumroll ceremony of slobbering this those big fat NEGRO LIPS, with 40-ounce malt liquor sips, to gulp the bequeating sweet sweaty liquid to get a buzz—Blacks fear “The Fuzz”—was he a Bear—malt liquor St. Ides beer you queer ass wussy, scraping the Friskies pet the female and feline buddy, the “pussy” of Caterbillar machines banking billions in constructive electronics—BEWARE HYPER-SONICS!