Sunday



The probability that we may fail ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just...A. Lincoln

Well I'm on my way to church as I type this in.  I wanted to tell everyone how Officer V. Baca with the Southeast subdivision was making fun of my beer gut.  Like she has room to talk.  Her ass is as wide as two axe handles and rather dull.  I'd hate to be her girlfriend when she gets home in the morning. 

VB: ewe.  What's that smell?

Mrs. VB:. Do you like it?  It's special soap I made.  It's got lye, fetid cod liver oil, patchouli thorns, and horny goat bung extract.  Topped with a drop of beaver semen that cost you the next paycheck.  Now put some on after you scrub that cousche.  Icky sticky.

VB: Beaver semen.  I want nothing to do with testosterone when I get home.  Now go put on some lipstick and flannel and let mommy go to town on your gash.

Mrs V.B.: not today.  Or the next 5 days.  You can tell by the stink my pussy's not pink.

VB: swell.

Mrs. VB: swell is right...you can tell by the swell that I'm not feeling so well.

VB:. (takes a closer look) oh my fucking gawd girlfriend you aren't kidding. You are hung like a donut!!! I better stand back...that's like a cherry danish ready to burst like a smashed melon under a farm cart!!!

Mrs VB:. Just for that I'm calling your sister for a sleepover while you are at work filing your nails with an angle grinder.  Too bad you lost your teefs falling off the roof last year or you'd still be biting them.

VB: better a biter than a shriller and a whiner.  Touche. Now get over here and help me untie my shoes...

Mrs VB: oh those designer tennis shoes from the Billy Jean King Collection.  The Dykee...it's got an extra long tongue and only one finger to get it off.

That's all for now.  God bless you all!
Chad...aka Vikingo.





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