read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

December 27, 2011
I have no idea what she's saying, no desire to scoop the words into a cohesive earful to make sense out of what seems to be nonsense. Her words could be chocolate-chip-cookie-scented Dr. Seuss, Ray Bradbury's voice could be falling from her lips, she could be channeling Dorothy Parker's spirit, and I wouldn't have a cotton-pickin' clue because all I can do in her presence is stare at her enormous brown tits, unfettered beneath an orange top too flimsy to contain them, cockeyed crazy liquid tits that themselves don't know which way to look, one pointed southwest, one pointed east.