My Saturday Night Fever Turned into a Sunday Morning Rash - Holy Molar

I’m turned off.

That repression bit’s jazzercized my provocative thesis: Your ass is grass!

In fact you’re dead all ready, jerk off!

Those mental mechanisms are just rusty cars traffic gridlocked in yourself-dazzling presumptuosness.

Yawn!

Isn’t it just so weird?

Fascinating.

The more you ask the less I know.

Ancient functions get reprogrammed.

Tomorrow sex is just a stab for nostalgia and agendas for the future are just a twitch to rumble arousal hopes surpass audience attendance: The fees of ears

for fucking.