I Wrote You A Letter

Right. I could use a chew. I probably need a shave. I could go for a shower. I'd like a handjob and I'm thirsty. I'm on my way to being a might peckish. My car needs a washing and my shirt needs pressing. But fuck it. Mainly because of reasons I cannot explain because you cannot comprehend. But mainly because I like to keep all information regarding the matter to myself. I'm lazy. Fuck.
I hope I'm not going bald. I probably will. My douche bag brother will have black hair till he's 90 because he is a self serving douche and I am punished for his actions.
Notre Dame is going to play LSU.
Remember when people fought in my comments section? Let us all get back to that. I enjoyed when you prats fought.
I had a dream that I met this girl I already knew for the first time. It was hot. She is so bloody hot in my mind. Not so much hot as she is a kaleidoscope of vacillating pyrexia inspiring feelings of adoration and lust. The thought of her makes me feel young. The dream I had of her aged my soul a millennia. If her lips taste the way they did in my dream, I would spend the rest of my life never eating or drinking. If she is half the person she is in my dream, then I pledge my life to her. Forever. It is hers. I never knew the girl I dreamt about was the girl of which dreams are possible. I could never imagine something so beautiful, which is why she is real and quenches my thirst from thousands of miles away with sweat from her thighs.