I want to buy a really nice house I can easily afford a so-nice house and Tesla, then MARRY JUSTINE! we have TBI’s lol

Cleveland homes with the Mans’ on hizzest thrones, absorbed and a-scorned with Bitcoins and Bitcoins upon Bitcoins to surely stir my high-stakes at the nightly Hornsey stashed in the trash, the way-est of Great Wayne—an Entitled “Company Owner and President” Inc. of my Google: “JMRQ Heavy Industries” MINE-D for sulking sitting still loose diamonds on a wedding for who? ME and JUSTINE! that’s me missing my TBI soulmate of a baked $CAKE to “going the distance” and either with or without (who?) YOU JUSTINE ARAGONA my lonely TBI-soldier and TBI-survivor as I have tumbled and fallen victim to “Their Plan” after attempting my later-found Sweetie Sobriety 2016 onward, hopefully not attending a 6th PSYCH-WARD—yeah I’m mentally Enlightened—but frightened of attending a hospital-lived time of the ol’ days, me then-drinking and not thinking probably properly of mine owned Subaru Legacy—thus to be sold as the car MY CAR yeah it’s sort of old and sitting pretty in Charlton, MA where my Mom and Dad live, it’s to be sold!

So about $5,000 to me investing in Bitcoin on PayPal—but “candle-stick” that’s my fantasy of living en-signed signature at the end of the day, when hey now, easy, I take it back, hopefully making more millions USD for me and Dan getting maybe 10% or 0.3% the CBD measly easel of erasers on parchment—me in my “Averte” Apartment being 2 floors tall in height of Heavenly AMERICAN EAGLES portraying absolute freedom from what to eat the crumbs of cookies, I’ve never played hookie or smoked out of a Hookah that was all important in Worcester, MA to many, and I guess I still love Mannie, but not for me—I can’t imagine she enjoys “trees” or anything inhaled, puffing the poofed pursed lips and skinny hips—like Elizabeth Hurley—I like her tiny bum because I don’t like any girls with “Trunks” but bathingwear when I stared at a nude beach one time, and when I drank—Dana to thank—or admonish… as he got me into drinking and drugging—toilet plumbing of puking in a porcelain bowl, God, please forgive my pre-2016 “Alcoholism” with me making wishes I thought asunder-  me thinking I would always drink brews upon breezy beers, that was my home-time habit of having enough drinking drinking drinking 3 beers and 4 on weekends, Friday and Saturday nights—with lights-out when I wanted 1 or 2 more to sip, I remember Dad giving me a fat lip when I would fall down drunk, me sneaking in nips at home in Charlton, MA where my parents live and staying alive, to thrive with writing check’s of Chuck’s (my Dad) nicknamed that rightly rhyming with the F word of dirty language—Derek Langlois I miss his voice, and LaTrenda Baker’s and Angel McAulriff’s on the phone, before I lived at home, finding solace and solitude in my other Apartments—neighbors and roommates being sort of rude and showing me attitude, as ordered by other’s wishes to have me eating at a Soup Kitchen—I helped my Church by lending a hand at one—but my Mom, my hun, she said, “We have better food for dinner tonight.” So I washed dishes for the poor, I saw them sad and hard-up for money I remember giving a man there $10 or a $20 in the days of old, my Subaru Legacy being sold and soon, more cash to put in my Investments—THE BESTEST—benefiting a beast my Aunt Donna Donohue’s Bismark diggity-doggy a Westie that’s the best-ie type of dog, the width of a fallen “log” dot-text of my 3 dot-com’s when I’ve got it going on with what I do best—I like Justine’s breasts I would tough-CH with a pinch of an ALT COIN I want my “Shiba Inu” soon like ASAP with sassy names: “Sir” at my best!

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