I'm running down the street. Middle of the day, dark out. Pitch black, like the vortex that forms in the middle of your mug when you're pouring fresh coffee into it after cleaning up the mess from last night. When you fucked the boss's , right in front of the boss. Fucking bitch. The boss, not his . Who knew one petite little woman could hold that much petrol. And she enjoyed every minute of it. Pitch black. My legs are tired now, aching. I'm not going to stop. I can't stop. Everything depends on me keeping up the pace. Seeing this thing through. I stop. But only because there's a quarter on the ground. And I need to call my wife, tell I'm going to be home late this evening. Someone has to save the president. And that man is not going to be me; I just want to have LOLz wit ma' boyz Also I am a virile young male in his physical prime, encumbered by an overactive limbic system and an ensuing inexplicable focus upon sexually boffing babes. To wit, I work at a far more productive level (both in labor done and ideas analyzed) during the times shortly pursuant to reaching orgasm with a sexual partner.

My Ideal Person Seeking individuals constantly on the run from the SHADOW GOVERNMENT don't tell anyone about them THEY KNOW

they fucking know EVERYTHING.

That kid down the street, he knows about the shadow government. you know who I mean, that kid who always wears the kid Charlemagne underpants and runs around his yard swinging a cat by its tail. that kid always gets all the neighborhood girl's panties wet

mostly because he pees on them

man I love that kid

Also I am moreover seeking hot babes desiring sexual satisfaction without a concurrent relationship, especially discriminating hot babes that inexplicably decide that I'm CHARMING and ROGUISHLY HANDSOME and PLEASE TONY, TEAR OF MY CORSET AND ACQUAINT YOURSELF WITH ME BIBLICALLY, etc.