Mr Rogers Neighborhood
If you think you’re capable of seducing me, you have never been more mistaken. I am entirely and wholly taken. You are the mistake, once forgotten, always forsaken.
The cycle continues for the prejudice that sues the unwanted touch, the negligent kiss that brought on such behavior that’s too much to address in therapy so instead you reach into your pants to try to fix the problem. The other problem is that you can’t even fit into your good pants anymore.
Your gut is too big for your enlarged butt to just hang up in the closet so it stays on the floor. I’m NOT your whore There’s more. I want to watch the details that define last nights epitome of poetry come alive. You will not survive. You don’t even drive. No car. No money. Pretending to have career when you replace your hardon with the detriment to the bully you are. I’m trying to go too far. Im picking at your scars because you virtually violated me. You aren’t pure in your intentions.
You want to press me to undress for you and deliver my p*say promptly for your micro managed manhood that misunderstood the assignment.
I want to bench press your genitalia into the pencil sharpener, gushing from brushing the paper shredder with the url for my new header. Did you think I actually get wet to your poor attempts to get me into your twin sized bed. You’re smaller than your penis.
You avoided my question but you won’t avoid the answer. The dishes have mold and the sink has cancer. Your awareness tweaks my curiosity but I will never peek at you naked or anything. I’m good. I wouldn’t even if I could. And I couldn’t even if I should take pity on the breathless pimples growing near the dimples on your ass cheeks. It’s been festering for weeks.
I will reduce you to nothing after deduct the wrinkles from your shaft that I plan to divulge into a craft. You are clueless. You think we’re friends. I’m gathering information on you to hang you because you aren’t well hung and I don’t feel like screaming for my lungs when you think you can snitch without dying in a bitch’s ditch. You just can’t scratch that annoying itch you can’t reach because your wrists are bound by the statutes that sound easy to impress but never touch the ground unless they’re digging up an old fire ant mound. You many pounds are you carrying? Who did you think you were worthy of marrying? Why the fuck are you tarrying here? You are not welcome here, dear.
I have explicitly stated that I can feel your masturbation process you got from geeks dot com just so you can tell all your older friends you finally got off. They asked you how you like your hand just to mock you until you couldn’t stand. I begin to reprimand you urgently to effectively embrace the erroneous level of thinking you’re on when the traffic lights not blinking and you’re heavily distracted from drinking. You are actually considering winking at me? What a nerd. That’s what I heard. Prove me wrong. Rumors are fun when you’re running your stalker into the dust but you must be diligent about approaching the finish line when you think I’m finished but I don’t want mine from you. I want mine from someone you don’t even know about. We’re already going out. You may go into the corner to pout.
I’ve indulged in the obligatory understanding of what age you were when you started playing with yourself. How did you learn? Did you pick a book off the shelf? Did you return it?
I burned it.
Oh that’s right. You burned the Bible and the Book of Mormon and you wonder why you can’t get poon because your girlfriend is a fucking cartoon that won’t climax anytime soon once we’re headed for tax season. Your ex wife ran when she could and I don’t blame her. I would have used you too if I knew you what you were guilty of. So where the porn? You’re going to get scorned from the day you’re born until the day you die if you are seeking underage consummation.
If you ever touch anything related to me again, I will personally pick out the nails to scrape your silly little willy with. You thought you were going to get away with virtual rape? Baby, it’s all on tape. There is no uncertain escape from your fate. They already released the date. It’s jail or a psych ward. We reset the motherboard so you can erase the steps you took to book the trash you brought in. We bought it first you fucking idiot. You’re drenched in cologne that smells like roadkill so you will comply with the rested reasons why you’re so animatedly shy. Are you just aloof? I have your deleted proof. You won’t be releasing the next ordeal once you’re stuck on the roof.
You’re really to fat to fuck. Just yuck. I wouldn’t touch you for a few million bucks who are undercover truck drivers that plunged the depths of your testicles when you harassed them long enough for them to ask you if you like it rough. Then they grabbed you and slipped their fingers into your asshole to feel how tough it is. It could take another beating even if we didn’t catch you cheating. Retreating won’t work during a rough path darling. The scorpion stings when it’s attracted to your sub par annual directionless dick we like to be subtle about when we’re pouring it on thick.
You want me to lick your precious memories until they achieve the goal to relieve your peculiar penis like this. Isn’t that just pure bliss regardless of who’s performing the act? Lay down for a while. You just jogged a mile before you logged in and off to harass me so you can pass a kidney stone that would have left you the hell alone if you had delicately closed your eyes and repented for your enormous lust that compelled you to graze the crust off your nuts that are too embarrassed to bust.
You creepy little Android that gets his feelings hurt and then retaliates like a failed child because he’s not the only one who’s annoyed. You know you’re annoying and you try to be to crawl under people’s skin. Then you blame on the sensory victims you drew in. You fornicated with her before her belated birthday and you had no way of stopping her from having an abortion. Your kids wouldn’t benefit from being raised by a monster who refused to be praised yet denies the living entity that created the sensations you live for anonymously.
What’s your point?
I will get to that momentarily after I’m done boring you with needless words that go unheard.
It’s over.
It never began. You are no type of man in any way that will or can achieve me. I am free of you. Free of your irrational obsession with me.
Don’t make a scene.
More than the one you already made online? That was your idea, not mine.
I’m going for blood. You will bleed out by the time I’m done doing surgery on your playful penis.
I need to have you
You most certainly do not and never will. It doesn’t matter what’s going on the silver platter until it’s been too beaten to batter your butter. I will never swallow your hollow spring sperm. It’s not perky enough for me. Beef jerky isn’t eye candy but it’s quirky enough to be handy for me to expel all bodily fluids and functions from your Skelton to monitor your progress. If you aren’t ejaculating regularly, that’s a problem with a witness. See what you’ve done? This is such a fucking wicked mess that stained my favorite dress. You’re going to pay dearly for it yearly until I decide it’s paid off.
I was laid off.
You quit. You’re a lazy demented fuck with an ego the size of a local nation that’s reducing costs due to inflation. You got here just in time to work off your debts so let’s get to it.
Get to what?
You silly man. You are our sexual experiment until I say otherwise. Ever heard of slave for you? I swore you in right before they impressed upon me that they needed to begin with you. You have a baby penis so this shouldn’t take very long. Ok, play his favorite song.
You look at me in horror as they strap your arms and legs to the sides of the hospital bed, spreading your prostate out, lightly spelling your g spot back there and telling me that you’re not yelling when I can’t even hear you over the machine. You better hope your clean.
I watch the helpless tears knock you out before I decide to intervene. You are a walking hall monitor that did too much talking to the press for me to say yes to your release. I reach inside the folds of your briefs and smooth a crease. Your pinkie finger for a penis perks right up and I softly, gently and remove your tantric underwear so I can see underneath your tropical ass to register you for another class. Don’t get kicked out of this one or you’re done.
I slowly sneak your balls to the side of the drywall but I haven’t made the call to open your rectum nice and wide yet. And you thought I was weak and ignorant. I’m a intelligently cruel as they get. I a woman you only dream of assessing naked and would gulp your own drool if I dropped a thrifty tool over the forefront of your swollen tip. Your precum stars to drip. I lick my bottom then my top lip anxiously as I hear the first moan escape your mouth. Remember darling I’m from the south where you don’t run your fucking mouth and ruin other’s relationships without a clue of what’s hunting you. I already took off my shoes. I don’t remember how to use this trolly but Mr Rogers Neighborhood should be excellent stimulation for your pinkie size penis, right JT?
You must exercise your right to a fair trial and a fair fight but you can’t afford the god forsaken flight. You can’t even afford a bus ticket. You’re homeless without your parents. You have it made in their house. I heard you made them proud until you were caught touching yourself instead of your spouse. You’re a loser, JT. What disability do you have other than being an old hag that does nothing but nag pretty girls that wouldn’t allow the stimulated sensation of your private parts until the principal said so. I personally reject the idea. I don’t think you should ever have another even slight orgasm ever again for what you did. I was reading seriously professionally prodigious poetry that shames your pen names and you were grunting to my every word as you moved your plump hand up and down, side to side and pumping with fury that would just bury the multitude if they knew you were a sacrifice for a higher calling that already paid the price for me but not for you because you knew what you were doing when your sperm came trickling out and you gasp in utter relief that you got away with murder after one more page but you forgot what we do at this stage. You are of age. You may not retire. You may consume the the room where I kept my puerile perfume just to remind you of who ultimately won. It wasn’t you son. Now hand me the grated gun, show me no puns and run for your hypocrisy.
You didn’t get away with murder, JT. You framed yourself. I’m a homicide detectives granddaughter who splashed in a little bit too much water for her own taste but she was too bitter to waste the toothpaste that made haste down the domestic drain. Your cries and pleas for mercy are in vain, to no avail because my wedding day is too important to relieve your institutional pain. I’m the only one who can get out the entire stain.
Watching my husband move while you suck your own penis has its own groove. I really gotta say it takes the cake when I have to prove what you tried to do to me before I broke free. Now you simply must pay a defining fee for what you did with my only kid. I will open the lid and dunk your dirty theories into the trash bin that say I’m too thin and bash your brains in with a grin on my face.
Your erectile disfunction pleases me, appeases me, eradicating your misfortune to further shun your ideas where the sun will never shine because I’ve had to listen to you endlessly whine about the methods we consistently used to bring you to orgasm promptly. Customer service satisfaction at your beloved on demand. Allow me to reprimand the wrinkles on your withered penis. I giggle fiercely.
I have no remorse that you will never have intercourse with me.
Your inappropriate thoughts are too juicy to be self taught. Tamed and brought forth with the scum of the earth that’s chewing gum that isn’t worth what it cost but it always happens when you’re lost.
I hope your mother tamed your testicles when they were tiny. I hope she tickled you and made you giggle. I hope she wiped your penis until she made it wiggle. Then she wiped your butt when it was still cute. When you were still handsome and semi adorable.
You look mortified which is my point. You had an ungodly crush on your mother and then you tried to make love to your brother. Your father removed you from the family and the sick secrets you live with are pregnant with expensive experience that’s extra money if you want to wipe your portion of honey off your bone until the abortion is written and signed in leather stone. You will die alone.
I walk up to you, extend my hand and offer to watch you touch yourself privately. I want to see the formation of your erection and the release you witness regularly in each section before you leave an orderly mess that I’m not cleaning up. I reach for the crease again, gently brushing up on your inflated penis. I sigh as I catch a blemish you were counting on your on fulfill your wish but I just concealed it with cosmetics so it can’t see where you’re going. It was a relative knowing. You wish you were glowing like me. You wish it was your baby. Never. Ever. I will sever all ties and expose all the lies after I have paid you back. You don’t need the money. You spend it on lavish things and gifts for another man’s girlfriend and try to entertain wicked thoughts of her that amuse your sensory stimulation and your ability to ever get an erection again.
I need to borrow your pen and notebook. Don’t you dare give me that deceitful and condescending look. I took what I needed and nothing more. Now I’m going to unlock the door and if you try anything infantile, you will stand trial.
God I love seeing you embarrassed. Let’s talk about your the propensity to masturbate too often. You’ve heard of the conspiracies to abolish your ability to spill your naughty seed with free will but you’re on overkill. It’s not a thrill to me. I’m not excited to have my own orgasm to you. I don’t want you.
Turn up the loud speakers so your parents can’t hear your manly groans and drop your pants so I can monitor your growth with an empty palm. Please remain calm. This isn’t for your pleasure. I took an oath to maintain your balance & I will keep it even if it means your arrogance is still misdirected but that’s what happens when your missing penis is completely erected.
Your birth defects are morbid, JT. I’m not a little kid. I am something they forbid you to ever touch because you talk too much. I don’t have time for this jargon. It’s a better bargain over here. You heard me loud and clear. Hasten with fear.
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