**It's some weird kinky shit, I tell you. Doesn't get no better/freaky/gross than this.
My August posts have been too saturated with, well, with W. Understand that I like talking about him because I tend to go overdrive when I'm discussing the foolish fancy that was him. What I'm saying is that he gives me material, and that's a good thing, and simultaneously, it's a bitch because he never gave me anything happy to talk about. There, I said it. So, on the off chance that you, W, are reading this, I might as well tell you now, in case the general disposition of my prior W posts evaded your detection: you never gave me anything happy to talk about. Hijo de puta, that's a bitch really, that's not me, and I should stop being such a wet vagina because we all know full well that sad stories are better said with a shot glass.
See, I've had enough drama for a lifetime. I've too much motherfucking pointless baggage that just made me look all the more like I'm 30, which I just recently am, August 2010 if you should know, but that's not the point. I will be moving on now, thank you very much, because I can, and I just did, and I'm far too glad that I did because I'm no longer dwelling, and I want to start looking like I'm still in my twenties or something.
And so on that note, I got me that eye roll-on from Garnier, to make my eyes all the more brighter, younger so to speak, and it was such a breath of heaven to my tired eyes. Unlike most other things which I've been needlessly passionate and hissy about. I say, fuck that shit and "roll lang ng roll lang ng roll!" Son of a bitch. And this is not a sponsored post anyway, stopped doing those years back, so there.
You see, I'm rambling now. So let me talk about Breastfeeding in Cabs instead. And I'll be talking about that in my next post; hijo de puta, look at the word count on this introduction! Again, Breastfeeding in Cabs. Next post. For the time being, find time to masturbate. That'll fix you, sure. Horny bastard.