| Some highlights reading through: > I fly Spirit to Chicago, where all my friends are too busy buying property or accepting professorships to try the ketamine a guy gave me for letting him suck my dick. > At the end of the shoot, I’m $40k in debt and severely constipated. > There’s the explanation: Blaze broke Hollywood’s dick off, and now he’s dead. > My therapist suggests I take a trip to see friends because I keep calling myself an incel. I have a feeling she’s sick of watching a grown man cry about how hard it is to poop and wants new material. > I tell them God will use the bone to create a third gender. > Even if it doesn’t work out between this new being and me, I’m able to autofellate. I now have half an hourglass figure and, naturally, am starting an OnlyFans. I feel like I know so many people with 1/10th the spunk/pizzazz/personality/attitude of this author. How did one person luck out and get such a "concentration" of unique-ness? |