TouchMacaque

My neighbor’s aunt is a prostitute and I paid her to lick my acorn a few weeks ago for my birthday, I bet this is hers. She had some pretty whacked out teeth but it wasn’t because they were bad, she just had some kind of experimental glow in the dark tattoo of her name on them. She’s my favorite hooker in the whole wide world.

I’m already home, where should I go

After my vasectomy I stopped jacking off to the Teletubbies and started making my own NFTs featuring Mr Burns telling Smithers to suck his dick. Best decision I ever made, can’t reproduce and I made a ton of money. It’s a shame I didn’t get to live to enjoy it all, 3 days ago I died from an overdose in a Walmart fitting room.

All of them, they’re all so wonderful

Ten seconds is too generous

A few months ago I ate horse sashimi in hida Japan, I’d like to think those horses got to have a fun airplane ride to get there like I did

I like saying words too

My great grandmother’s Danish step aunt used to buy sticks of RAM for her husband every Valentine’s Day, she would ram them into his ass but they would just break and it was a total waste of money. Five years ago she passed away because she didn’t know you’re supposed to huff jenkem and drank the bottle, they held the funeral at an Arby’s in Texas and placed bottles of jenkem all over the place and the staff were pretty upset. Thankfully it’s Arby’s so there weren’t any other customers.

Every year on Valentine’s Day my neighbor’s husband has been asking to borrow some bike chain lubricant, I know he uses it as lube to masturbate but I don’t mind because everyone needs a little love on Valentine’s Day.

This all changed 2 Valentine’s days ago when he started asking for treadmill lubricant and I told him I don’t have a treadmill but he insisted I give him treadmill lubricant, he held a machete to my throat and told me to drive to the nearest gym and break into the maintenance closet to get some of that sweet sweet treadmill lube. Well I refused and he killed me, I spent 4 days getting my head sewn back on by an army vet that happened to be at the gym so I was very thankful.

Since then, every Valentine’s Day I squirt a little bit of treadmill lubricant on my neck scars in his honour.

I just don’t understand why there were so many authors at something called bottles for Christ. And why were there referees?

Twelve years ago my brother’s ex girlfriend’s wife attended Bottles for Christ where she witnessed a fight between two emerging authors, one was a woman who’s name escapes me but the title of her book was “the girl with the dog dick tits”. She didn’t take kindly to another authors adaptation of the classic “pizza clowns from space hell”, claiming it was rubbish and a direct insult to writers. They argued over several bottles of wine until the referees announced the winner was a different author who had written a cookbook about making dinosaur sashimi. Everyone thought it was ridiculous because you would have to figure out time travel in order to even get dinosaur meat, that is until a young descendant of Alberto Weinstein came up with a way to incubate dinosaurs from nothing more than the DNA contained in oil. Unfortunately he died of sepsis before testing out his theory and no one ever got to eat dinosaur sashimi.

Bottles for Christ never happened again after that year, 32 people died of alcohol poisoning and another 210 were hospitalized with severe liver problems. At least those 32 people got to meet their Lord in the end so I guess bottles for Christ wasn’t a complete waste of time.