BigJimsWornOutTires
Emerald
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
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He controls what was, is, and will be. He is the beginning. He is the end. A woman could never imitate such perfection of the apparatus of the manosphere continuum. What she could do is offer her service—offer herself as the catcher. And always, always address him as sir, mister, I’m Sorry, and of course, Oh Daddy. But if she’s the inked up atrocity of battered souls, ugh, the one worth less than a few ropes of seeds across her visage, it would be best to drop this bitch off under the bridge so the lesser of masculinity can finish her off. Like a lion having filled his stomach with meat, he leaves the leftovers for the scavengers to feast: homeless bums and blistered druggies will lick clean her yeast.
I am Gasanova—the big pea inside her bowl of rich, creamy stew. Hear me excrete, woman! HEAR ME!
I am Gasanova—the big pea inside her bowl of rich, creamy stew. Hear me excrete, woman! HEAR ME!