That's nothing, have you ever tried breathing in the air from a brothel in NYC? Not only will it enhance your life satisfaction, it will completely change your life. And there's a common misconception to be had- this is not ALL brothels, but just the ones in NYC. And I know "blah blah blah they're not legal they don't exist" and man do I envy the naivety there, because you just gotta know where to look. One rip from the piss and schnapps stained shag carpet will make you feel like a million bucks.
This is not to be confused with, and this is speaking from personal experience, brothels in St Paul, Topeka, Kalispell, Mynot, or virtually any den of pleasure south of Oklahoma and East of Arkansas. That'll fuck you up, man, but depending on what you're going for, can still be a good time. Topeka is weird, just because of all the totally straight men there going to prove how totally straight they are. They'll rail for an hour or so just to make sure they still got it, while trying not to picture that one tryst they had in college with a fella named Cole who might've changed your perception on sexuality for the duration of your life.
The smell is too clean, is what I'm getting at. Smells like linen. I don't know about you, but when I enter a place for the purpose of just knocking one out, I don't want to feel like I'm waltzing into a Hilton hotel with a concierge who wants to ask how my day is going. Sir, my day is not going well, hence the necessity to get something my wife can't give me since the accident; a solid punch to the gems while I wear a cosplay of 2B from Nier: Automata and she does her best Darius Rucker impression, meanwhile with the other hand using a bubble wand to fill the atmosphere with the familiar twinkling of soap bubbles with just a hint of lemon juice that can spurt and get you in the eye and make you cry just a bit, and then finish the deed with a quadruple-reverse cowgirl upside down in one of those things designed to stretch out your spine.
I tell ya, they don't make those things like they used to. The last time I was in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I decided to get wild with this woman built like Honey Boo-boo's mom, three tamales, an antique sheep-colon condom that I bought at auction, and the orange VHS copy of the movie Good Burger, and we made it three minutes on that inversion board before the whole thing snapped in two like that twin bed with Cole. The entire American production sector should be ashamed at itself for this "turn and burn" mentality of creating things that just don't work so that you'll have to buy another. Well, I'm 43, and I think I've bought scores of them damn inversion boards and I just can't find a brand that works.
If anyone has found a board capable of sustaining 500+ pounds (not including inertia), me and mine would be very grateful as to the brand so that I may purchase several, before the damn Globalists plot their inflation again and make it cost 3x my daily wage of being an Uber driver for meth dealers. It's good money, the tips are fantastic, and the meth is great, but I just can't justify spending that much on something, so that's the key here, is to always buy in bulk, and invest for the future.
Anyways gotta go feed the dogs. They haven't eaten in a couple days because every time they get close to the food dish I put on a T-Rex costume and run at them while screaming "I WAS THE ONE WHO LET THE DOGS OUT" as a part of a conditioning technique from that Cesar Millan taught me in person in Topeka. It's supposed to assert dominance or some shit, but all I seem to get for a reaction is a raging erection that cannot be tamed.
Vicious cycle, I tell ya.
Blood is a myth, Macklemore's dad owns Goodwill, The White Stripes music is recruitment for vegan coffee bars, Ryan Renolds has a ding dong shaped like a question mark.
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