Didn’t I tell you I'd do it, that this would happen? Women. Tons of them. Hungry. Disheveled. Unkempt. Walking around. Holding things up. Flexing their vocal chords. Some of them wearing makeup; most not. Some of them dressed nicely; most wearing hiking boots and shirts with happy stick figures. All of them getting much-needed exercise for yours truly: me.
I think it’s clear- I’m the most eligible and sought-after man in America, my America. And women know it. They’re out in the streets, the most grabbable of places to locate one’s self. They’re worried that there’s only one of me, only one truly great enough to satisfy whatever it is those tiny brains want. Probably cheese. Am I cheese? I’m the head cheese. Super cheesy. Like sharp cheddar- and orange to boot!
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, they want what the most nimble of hands can do. Not those stubby, calloused, veiny hands of those mouth breathers, but the hands of a genius. Like raccoon hands with thumbs that get all the hard-to-reach places. The G-spot: located cleverly between the F-spot and the H-spot. Can’t find it? Carpet bomb all 3 and find an Eastern European woman whose never heard of any of them. Satisfaction is a sliding scale and she’s gotta make weigh-ins!
Keep your business here and your dirty little mouths shut. And don’t even think about going to whichever bar you want. This is my kickball league and you will eat Toss’ floppy, fart-smelling pizza and like it! No parking? Get a driver and stop being poor! He can idle in front of Torchy’s and eat a bag of their overrated tacos- exactly how you’ll end up when you drunkenly take home whatever’s left lurking around the corn hole boards. Your breath smells like farts and their face looks like a butt. A match made in toilet heaven.
We got your money and you got a weak social circle so lube up and drink some Bud Light because it’s the best beer, I just had some, outstanding, great people, those Buds. And you’re gonna need it because you have the personality of a nasty woman scientist and should be locked up in a zoo. What else? Oh yeah, Toss has the best stuffed pretzels. Absolutely not made out of hobo dick cheese. That’s real cheese and you know it. The pretzels, not the hobo dicks. Go Pats!
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