When tempted to tassle the humbler freak’s Household Hustler, squirting a swindled dip of Mustard all crusted along the rim—and a vim of tasty’s treats the mean meat to eat—and greetings to all of you unto my Followers committing a fouled-out, foul-mouth whisperer, read this the many behind the scenes, and with the textual symmetry of a brand-spanking-New soapy delivery—of Dove, the soap that Justine would steer clear of facial blemishes—her loins I salivate with the tongue of mine, inserted into her, thine, the thing of her own in a crevice—A BIG SMILE ON HER FACE!—that I miss with her the Misses, and how I miss her savory goodness all day and all night—she had a Traumatic Brain Injury, like ME—dancing with her horizontally—every night and morning I would agree, to be, for me to be, just buzzed screw them amphigory follicles, ahem, with what her butt whence it became time, me with visiting her Mom, that was when I really shined and shone, showing my best face, me at her place, and again with her Mom—I had sex with them both—only on Occasion to get my freak-on all shower long with once and again, in my car, and first a kiss—I LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER, THERE MISSES P- just Oh that the grin of me—seeing some action, motherload of what butt I liked her Mom’s better—free and degree in the utmost decree, of no Cellulite, yes Mommy her Mom, I do AGREE—it’s not you I want the most; it’s your Dotted Daughter I know you see, them both shorter at my nipple horizontal height of waning planes not this addy: 2212 Lower Plain and I alone jotting poetry—I have many garish fans and fantasies—I know you see, for this is me coming at-you uncut and untrimmed only taking showers maybe 2X per week—I’m a “Sheik” of my declaration to the Islamic Nation who, they do it righty-tighty & lefty-loosie when the roll is of a Tootsie and me, with no foot-fetish freaks, withered leaks all week, and long, when with my both handed, I cram the Mr. Schram the owner of “Averte” relationing alright—he’s my friend I suppose—maybe a little bit teensy-weensy and more than Carissa, and Christ what is up with Merilee who works here all night, so long, her retrieving my medications, in this USA Nation having voted a la “Biden” a mistake, mistaken thinking I’d switch to live at my real “home” in Charlton, MA when wishing it, oh I wish, to be with my car and nearby The Sole Proprietor (www.thesole.com) of a worn shoes saggy and brownish-tannish scuffed, that’ll be a signal to shop for sporting shoes, and all I watch is Fox News—forgoing CNN with the absence of Christopher Cuomo—he was neat—not needing the most Promptness I would tap the toes on my feet and eat a foodie footlong Frank of dressing in mustard—the whole-seeded Dijon—it got my taste-buds preemptively salivating, me procrastinating with what I eat—I’ll have that later in the week—just maybe, because they toss so many prepared meals, for me, and of MINE—the refrigerator in my apartment, well, its contents I keep as a shining legitimate “Shrine” of mine with Diet Soda to sip, and I toss so many prepared meals of all that food, wasted, remember: the Mustered MUSTARD whole-grain was to be tasted, the mustard seed, condim-ents I meant lol — R.I.P.