I've tried my best to raise him up right...![]()
I challenge you to a hurling match.Rart shall act as my second.
Respect my lack of authority.
We can't really have a hurling match until we've got fifteen fuckers a side. I'd gladly forego having team mates as I work better alone. All I need is a big, wieldy stick and the truth.
You can have the sensitive jew and the rest of the internets.
I envision it happening exactly like this.Assuming this is hurling.
Respect my lack of authority.
Me and posterity, we got a thing. I do, she listens. She don't judge.
I feel as though I've come through a relationship wherein my soul was truly brutalized. It must have been my soul because I had my body and brain examined thoroughly and I got a resounding and disappointing all clear. Yep, it's the soul. What a cunt. Seems we have no grip on said soul and once it gets infected, we're fucked. It's like living in a Phil Collins song.
This given, I projected my mug on the soulless internets and this ginger bint, slightly my senior, (though at 40, slightly becomes crucial), sidled up and promptly fell in love with me. She could cook, buffer her consciousness to cope with my sickness, and behave like a wanton whore in the bedroom, bless her. She's funny and smart and kind to animals. And furiously in love with me.
But I like getting wopped. Clearly I like getting wopped more than I like getting my cock sucked. I used to complain about never getting my cock sucked with the ex. She said I was always wopped. But even though this new one is willing to suck my cock in whichever condition I happen to be in, I'd still rather be on my own getting wopped than having my cock sucked in any condition.
Am I gay?
You undermine your own happiness because you don't think you deserve it.I learnt that by watching The Bachelorette.
I'm not bothering to address the gay part because we both know it's one of those questions that if you have to ask you already know the answer,queer.
Respect my lack of authority.
Of course, the sad and amusing part hasn't happened yet. Sit the fuck down and get saddened and amused.
Not of a mind to poem this up, so I'll say how it occurred. This woman, many years ago got engaged and extended by some Welsh, physically abusive inbred who held her and her newborn veritable prisoners on some Welsh promentary for a year or so. After which she duly escaped while her captor/lover was having ECT or some such administered.
She brought the kid up in relatively civilized, sheep-free Belfast, telling him all the time that his dad was dead, deceased, you get the picture. Curtains. Until the kid hits like 14 or something and some spastic spills the Welsh beans and the shadow of the man is resurrected in the boy's eyes and he begins to self-harm and cut himself up like his arms were a scratching post, the spastic. Which duly sends her mental and deposits her (briefly) in a lunatic asylum. All's well that ends well, but for fuck sake, like. if you tell someone like me something like that, there's only one or two ways it can possibly turn out.
You can guess the rest. Fair play to her, she was extremely tolerant with me. True story.
Last edited by chalice; 06-07-2015 at 07:04 PM.
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