BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
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MANIFESTO POWER, ACTIVATE!
Never was I the Chad who kept mementos of slays. Better forgotten than risked rekindling. Though not all vaginas I wrecked in prolapse thought highly of me. Some malevolent thots vilified my affable reputation to other floozies. Mindy once said, "He's a misogynistic prick with too big of a dick. I hope it rots off in someone's ass while he's being butt-raped." Ugh, that Mindy was something else. She could engulf the entire nut sack while her tongue was buried inside my... you know. THE DARK HOLE.
My past is repleted with ghosts of broken hearts I rather winnow. Sure, I entertain memory lane periodically when sipping whiskey, but I rather ensconce them into the abyss before any rue punctures my conscious hymen. Ah, yes, my incandescent persona, very few pussy puddle producers could resist.
Back in 2016, I was lollygagging with an upper-class hottie I nicknamed, Rich Whore. I remember the first time I mated with her during a cruise vacation to Bermuda.
After we met at the casino bar, she wanted my opinion on an evening gown to wear to an elegant dinner party. However, I wasn't invited because, well, I'm white trash. She took me to her loft suite, which was impressive. I remember saying, "Jeepers Creepers, you have three bedrooms and a patio balcony with a minibar and a private heart-shaped hot tub?"
She giggled and asked about my room. I replied, "A white trash closet." She chuckled and disappeared into the bathroom.
A moment later, still inside the shithole, she blurted out, "Please don't judge me!" I assured her that I wasn't on vacation to judge anyone but the cruise ship employees. She replied, "Okay, because I really like you." The door opened and she was butt-naked. Quickly, without thinking, I match-played her. She snickered as I removed my clothes until she saw my large penis. Her smile shifted to anger.
Of course, this was why she invited me to her room. Women need a man's opinion? Come on. LMAO, not on this earth. The fuck outta here.
She's sitting on the edge of her queen-size bed sipping champagne. I'm in between her legs at this moment. I said, "It's not going to suck itself." My archaic words mesmerized her as I wiggled my shaft. Ugh, still holding her glass like an alcoholic, she licked my penis. She took another sip. Then licked it again. She brought her drink to my shaft and dipped it into the quarter-filled glass like a fucking lunatic with too much money would do. She handed it to me and got busy. I chugalugged the savory bitch drink.
Shortly after, she pulled me onto the bed and climbed on top and sledgehammered my cock without resistance. Her juices splattered like fine mist from heavy raindrops hitting a puddle.
But damn, those back shots were something else, I tell ya. She chockablocked my entire cervix crusher and still expected more. "Look!" she demanded as I leaned forward to witness the extraordinary consequence of my length. "It's poking against my belly like a baby kicking!" What a sport.
Rich Whore had powerful influence and wealth, but her cronyism would be her downfall because months later I moved in with her. She had a penthouse suite in New York. Not only that, she was having drama issues with her family and didn't care about the new black clients. She wanted me to represent a rapper in court, but I disputed, "I don't even have a GED."
She nodded and replied, "Exactly."
"I did in do nut ing!" the rapper insisted to the courtroom as fact. I sat with the other lawyers, but they were mean and ignored me. The prosecutor spoke a goofy language with words I didn't think existed when the judge finally asked if we wanted to cross-examine. The attorneys shook their heads, but I stood up to the plate and walked over to the other side. I could hear a cluster of sighs behind me.
"When you say you did'in do nutin," I said, pacing back and forth in front of the DA team, "are you suggesting someone else did sum ing?"
"Word."
"Looking at this case, according to the victim, you and two other rappers sexually assaulted her at a private party," I said as I glared at the young blonde assistant district attorney. She stared back, eyes wide.
"We didin' nutin," the rapper insisted. But then he snitched, "It was that fashion designer!"
"Then I rest my case," I announced to the judge, throwing my hands in the air and concluding, "I declare a misfire."
The judge cleared her throat and questioned my conclusion, "Do you mean a mistrial?"
"That too," I assured her and winked. She blushed and tucked a few strands of her brunette hair under her ear.
The rapper was sentenced to ten years in prison and ordered to pay the victim five million dollars. But because of Rich Whore's blunder using an illiterate as a defense attorney, her family removed her from the company and sent her to Africa to manage one of their farms in West Nigeria.
Not sure why, but I've always favored soaked cougars over freakouts with callow skanks. Why waste time with an incongruous fuckhole apparatus to my supreme love-making ability? An inexperienced woman who constantly has to stop and whine about it being too deep? Fuhgeddaboudit.
"Leave her for other nascent lovers," I insisted once at Titty's Celadon party. She was a rich fashion designer who hosted scintillating gatherings that would swindle you into questionable private ones. But to attend her party, the dress code required all guests to be garbed in celadon undergarments, which some guests found difficult to obtain. But those who did have a blast...and were later traumatized for life.
"Now tee porty bout to get suspiciously dangerous," she announced from the balcony overlooking the confused guests around the swimming pool. "If you do not have celadon-colored underwear on, you must leave." The guests pulled out their waistbands and checked themselves with perplexed expressions. Some jumped up and down as if they had won a prize. I wasn't wearing any underwear, but I was exempted because of the favor I did for Rich Whore by screwing up the liability case against Titty. She continued, "When you find some celadon underwear, you might want to come back to my potty later. Now, we go to ice cold basement for group sex." But she had other plans for one of her guests.
"We stay until we all need IV drips," she cheered at the three guys running a train on the 19-year-old YouTube influencer, who thought she was there to interview the fashion designer for a teen channel, OMG It's Fashion! Shaking my head, watching the cantankerous hag flick her bean to the sex performance struck a nerve with me. Maybe it was the sounds that got her off, I don't know. Blind people are weird.
Observing the three guys attenuate the star's two holes was difficult to bear, but she rallied them on, "Three? Make it five!" The YouTuber then filled her mouth with cock. I watched as I wrapped a blanket around myself and sipped whiskey.
"Done," says Titty, then orders two more male hookers.
An hour later, five guys were vying for the three holes. Titty, a belligerent bitch with an odd fetish for fish flakes, which she sprinkled on the contestants, pitted the sex workers against each other. Laughing, she said to the new participant trying to get a hole, "Ha ha, you little bitch and Roy bigger man than you. Fight!" And fight, they did. They beat the shit out of each other while the troubled online star watched, shivering from the Antarctic atmosphere.
My rule of thumb: she must be dripping wetter than clement. Not many understood my erudite metaphors, as once Fee Five Foe FeFee said, "The fuck is this cracker talking about now?" They didn't appreciate my succinct expressions.
Today, I've settled down and packed away the ol'big penis, as my acumen has degenerated into utter stupidity. Ah, yes, not only am I incel forever, I am... Doctor Manifesto, the Endgame of Authors!
Never was I the Chad who kept mementos of slays. Better forgotten than risked rekindling. Though not all vaginas I wrecked in prolapse thought highly of me. Some malevolent thots vilified my affable reputation to other floozies. Mindy once said, "He's a misogynistic prick with too big of a dick. I hope it rots off in someone's ass while he's being butt-raped." Ugh, that Mindy was something else. She could engulf the entire nut sack while her tongue was buried inside my... you know. THE DARK HOLE.
My past is repleted with ghosts of broken hearts I rather winnow. Sure, I entertain memory lane periodically when sipping whiskey, but I rather ensconce them into the abyss before any rue punctures my conscious hymen. Ah, yes, my incandescent persona, very few pussy puddle producers could resist.
Back in 2016, I was lollygagging with an upper-class hottie I nicknamed, Rich Whore. I remember the first time I mated with her during a cruise vacation to Bermuda.
After we met at the casino bar, she wanted my opinion on an evening gown to wear to an elegant dinner party. However, I wasn't invited because, well, I'm white trash. She took me to her loft suite, which was impressive. I remember saying, "Jeepers Creepers, you have three bedrooms and a patio balcony with a minibar and a private heart-shaped hot tub?"
She giggled and asked about my room. I replied, "A white trash closet." She chuckled and disappeared into the bathroom.
A moment later, still inside the shithole, she blurted out, "Please don't judge me!" I assured her that I wasn't on vacation to judge anyone but the cruise ship employees. She replied, "Okay, because I really like you." The door opened and she was butt-naked. Quickly, without thinking, I match-played her. She snickered as I removed my clothes until she saw my large penis. Her smile shifted to anger.
Of course, this was why she invited me to her room. Women need a man's opinion? Come on. LMAO, not on this earth. The fuck outta here.
She's sitting on the edge of her queen-size bed sipping champagne. I'm in between her legs at this moment. I said, "It's not going to suck itself." My archaic words mesmerized her as I wiggled my shaft. Ugh, still holding her glass like an alcoholic, she licked my penis. She took another sip. Then licked it again. She brought her drink to my shaft and dipped it into the quarter-filled glass like a fucking lunatic with too much money would do. She handed it to me and got busy. I chugalugged the savory bitch drink.
Shortly after, she pulled me onto the bed and climbed on top and sledgehammered my cock without resistance. Her juices splattered like fine mist from heavy raindrops hitting a puddle.
But damn, those back shots were something else, I tell ya. She chockablocked my entire cervix crusher and still expected more. "Look!" she demanded as I leaned forward to witness the extraordinary consequence of my length. "It's poking against my belly like a baby kicking!" What a sport.
Rich Whore had powerful influence and wealth, but her cronyism would be her downfall because months later I moved in with her. She had a penthouse suite in New York. Not only that, she was having drama issues with her family and didn't care about the new black clients. She wanted me to represent a rapper in court, but I disputed, "I don't even have a GED."
She nodded and replied, "Exactly."
"I did in do nut ing!" the rapper insisted to the courtroom as fact. I sat with the other lawyers, but they were mean and ignored me. The prosecutor spoke a goofy language with words I didn't think existed when the judge finally asked if we wanted to cross-examine. The attorneys shook their heads, but I stood up to the plate and walked over to the other side. I could hear a cluster of sighs behind me.
"When you say you did'in do nutin," I said, pacing back and forth in front of the DA team, "are you suggesting someone else did sum ing?"
"Word."
"Looking at this case, according to the victim, you and two other rappers sexually assaulted her at a private party," I said as I glared at the young blonde assistant district attorney. She stared back, eyes wide.
"We didin' nutin," the rapper insisted. But then he snitched, "It was that fashion designer!"
"Then I rest my case," I announced to the judge, throwing my hands in the air and concluding, "I declare a misfire."
The judge cleared her throat and questioned my conclusion, "Do you mean a mistrial?"
"That too," I assured her and winked. She blushed and tucked a few strands of her brunette hair under her ear.
The rapper was sentenced to ten years in prison and ordered to pay the victim five million dollars. But because of Rich Whore's blunder using an illiterate as a defense attorney, her family removed her from the company and sent her to Africa to manage one of their farms in West Nigeria.
Not sure why, but I've always favored soaked cougars over freakouts with callow skanks. Why waste time with an incongruous fuckhole apparatus to my supreme love-making ability? An inexperienced woman who constantly has to stop and whine about it being too deep? Fuhgeddaboudit.
"Leave her for other nascent lovers," I insisted once at Titty's Celadon party. She was a rich fashion designer who hosted scintillating gatherings that would swindle you into questionable private ones. But to attend her party, the dress code required all guests to be garbed in celadon undergarments, which some guests found difficult to obtain. But those who did have a blast...and were later traumatized for life.
"Now tee porty bout to get suspiciously dangerous," she announced from the balcony overlooking the confused guests around the swimming pool. "If you do not have celadon-colored underwear on, you must leave." The guests pulled out their waistbands and checked themselves with perplexed expressions. Some jumped up and down as if they had won a prize. I wasn't wearing any underwear, but I was exempted because of the favor I did for Rich Whore by screwing up the liability case against Titty. She continued, "When you find some celadon underwear, you might want to come back to my potty later. Now, we go to ice cold basement for group sex." But she had other plans for one of her guests.
"We stay until we all need IV drips," she cheered at the three guys running a train on the 19-year-old YouTube influencer, who thought she was there to interview the fashion designer for a teen channel, OMG It's Fashion! Shaking my head, watching the cantankerous hag flick her bean to the sex performance struck a nerve with me. Maybe it was the sounds that got her off, I don't know. Blind people are weird.
Observing the three guys attenuate the star's two holes was difficult to bear, but she rallied them on, "Three? Make it five!" The YouTuber then filled her mouth with cock. I watched as I wrapped a blanket around myself and sipped whiskey.
"Done," says Titty, then orders two more male hookers.
An hour later, five guys were vying for the three holes. Titty, a belligerent bitch with an odd fetish for fish flakes, which she sprinkled on the contestants, pitted the sex workers against each other. Laughing, she said to the new participant trying to get a hole, "Ha ha, you little bitch and Roy bigger man than you. Fight!" And fight, they did. They beat the shit out of each other while the troubled online star watched, shivering from the Antarctic atmosphere.
My rule of thumb: she must be dripping wetter than clement. Not many understood my erudite metaphors, as once Fee Five Foe FeFee said, "The fuck is this cracker talking about now?" They didn't appreciate my succinct expressions.
Today, I've settled down and packed away the ol'big penis, as my acumen has degenerated into utter stupidity. Ah, yes, not only am I incel forever, I am... Doctor Manifesto, the Endgame of Authors!
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