BigJimsWornOutTires
Kraken
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
- Posts
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The lithe foid had an uncontrollable sex drive for robust men with musculature figures. So, although she seldom washed her vagina and usually donned dirty clothes from the cat-urine soaked carpet and rarely brushed her neglected tousled lice-infected hair, she summoned The Cupid anyway.
"What!" The apathetic abomination angel replied.
"Um. I was wondering. Can you hook me up with a strong cute man? But save the big dick part—my shit's superglued tight. I need something small but sturdy. No limpers. And he has to be financially stable."
"No!"
"Shoot." She sighed and blew the witch candle out. For that ended the call.
But as the little freak headed back to his unique place in Hell, he had a change of heart. So he made a request of his own; Big Jim's Worn Out Tire Sale. One of those old Keepers that walk the Earth until That Day; the day we all like to believe, is of imagination.
"Ugh." The big guy replied.
"Dude, dude, dude. This fucking wacko bitch keeps summoning me every weekend when she's drinking her $5 bottled wine...seeking a mate...you know? So. I thought since you have no, um, respect for yourself and a knack for immoral sleezebags, would you do me a favor?"
"Done."
Hours later, as she's getting ready for bed with her eight cats, the uncanny Big Jim manifests in her section 8 housing unit. Naked.
"GET OUT! GET OUT!" She sees this strange muscular man standing in her apartment wheeling a big fucking dick, though he has an impressive, meticulously groomed beard. But he ignores her and walks into the kitchen, then opens the fridge and retrieves the little wine she had left in a bottle. He drinks it. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT, YOU PSYCHO!"
He turns and faces her. "Ugh. I gotta take a shit. Where's your smaller shithole at?"
"I'M CALLING THE COPS!" The unruly foid runs to the coffee table and grabs her phone. Begins sliding and tapping it as fast as possible.
"Ugh. This cesspool of Minneapolis is an autonomous zone. Niggers chased the law-keepers away. So I'm gonna go take a shit now." He shuffles to her bathroom but pauses. "While I'm doing what I gotta do...how bout you get those nasty drawers off and those cats out your bed and get this party started." He then massaged the skin above his penis, as if its a clit, and winked at her. Then proceeded into the restroom.
But she wasn't a trooper. She ran to the front door—blustered her cats to come—though two were too lazy to move and one had been deceased for some time now—but five came a-running. They all left.
Half of an hour later, Jim exhibits from the smelly and now-destroyed bathroom and glances around. "Ugh. Boogers," he says and vanishes.
"What!" The apathetic abomination angel replied.
"Um. I was wondering. Can you hook me up with a strong cute man? But save the big dick part—my shit's superglued tight. I need something small but sturdy. No limpers. And he has to be financially stable."
"No!"
"Shoot." She sighed and blew the witch candle out. For that ended the call.
But as the little freak headed back to his unique place in Hell, he had a change of heart. So he made a request of his own; Big Jim's Worn Out Tire Sale. One of those old Keepers that walk the Earth until That Day; the day we all like to believe, is of imagination.
"Ugh." The big guy replied.
"Dude, dude, dude. This fucking wacko bitch keeps summoning me every weekend when she's drinking her $5 bottled wine...seeking a mate...you know? So. I thought since you have no, um, respect for yourself and a knack for immoral sleezebags, would you do me a favor?"
"Done."
Hours later, as she's getting ready for bed with her eight cats, the uncanny Big Jim manifests in her section 8 housing unit. Naked.
"GET OUT! GET OUT!" She sees this strange muscular man standing in her apartment wheeling a big fucking dick, though he has an impressive, meticulously groomed beard. But he ignores her and walks into the kitchen, then opens the fridge and retrieves the little wine she had left in a bottle. He drinks it. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT, YOU PSYCHO!"
He turns and faces her. "Ugh. I gotta take a shit. Where's your smaller shithole at?"
"I'M CALLING THE COPS!" The unruly foid runs to the coffee table and grabs her phone. Begins sliding and tapping it as fast as possible.
"Ugh. This cesspool of Minneapolis is an autonomous zone. Niggers chased the law-keepers away. So I'm gonna go take a shit now." He shuffles to her bathroom but pauses. "While I'm doing what I gotta do...how bout you get those nasty drawers off and those cats out your bed and get this party started." He then massaged the skin above his penis, as if its a clit, and winked at her. Then proceeded into the restroom.
But she wasn't a trooper. She ran to the front door—blustered her cats to come—though two were too lazy to move and one had been deceased for some time now—but five came a-running. They all left.
Half of an hour later, Jim exhibits from the smelly and now-destroyed bathroom and glances around. "Ugh. Boogers," he says and vanishes.
