Little Bear Teddy Top Cones

So after I change into my crisp white linen shirt opened to the navel, man hair and medallion like some wonderful Christman tree, white slacks and white loafers, I walk nonchalantly along the promenade with one hand in my pocket, silver Casio wristwatch glistening in the high noon sun. My other hand gracefully carrying my white sports jacket over my shoulder. My tiny dreamcatcher earring jostling my lobe in the wind. My Patrick Swayze esque ballad locks effortlessly locked in place with a high quality Guadelupan hairspray.

I gasp as I glimpse the sign: Little Bear Teddy Top Cones. Today, being a nonce will be easy peasy! And I can get Terry to taxi me to the dungeon, er home. Win/win.

Greasy Slop in Your Mouth

Hey you! How the hell have you been?! Me? Well, I bravely battled and overcame bowel cancer, haven't been able to write anything worthwhile for shit and cut my penis in the shower (one of these statements is not true), thanks for asking.

Anyway, to stave off the bewildering dismay of my random and confusing existence for a moment, here's a picture of the EXACT DESCRIPTION OF MY LOVE MAKING. Right down to odour and taste. Tweet me and we'll go dogging. x