I’m one with the universe.
Yesterday Miso kitty (that’s me-so-kitty) paid me a visit
And then this morning I leveled my energy on yet another nitwit 20-something who thinks she knows something about anything other than her tits, which by her own admission is a job skill to be a writer on SNL. Yeah that makes sense.
Here’s the thing, I live here. Whatever convention is in town, it’s still just another day in Las Vegas, to me. I live here. When the rodeo was in town, as much as I deplore bull riding, to be honest, there were a few Clint Black cowboys who made me lose track of time. How? They were smart. For starters, they closed their laptops and went out.
I live here, so...
Yeah. No. Don’t care.
What else ya got?
If sex is your objective when you travel, and you can’t get laid by someone in a bar or a casino in Las Vegas, what makes you think you’ll do any better online with a complete stranger?
I’m going out tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll see you. Maybe not. It’s Vegas. We’ll both get what we’re looking for if our game’s on point.
I’m going out tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll see you. Maybe not. It’s Vegas. We’ll both get what we’re looking for if our game’s on point.
I’ll meet someone maybe once every two or three years online. And that’s only because they gave me a good enough reason to meet them. Telling me you have a big dick is the exact same thing as telling me, “I’m a moron.” It’s like women texting men, “I have big tits.” — yeah and?
(Comic) Chris Porter said it best, if women have that kind of pussy power, wield it to force men to cure cancer and AIDS. No sex until you men fix some shit.
Your big dick and long stamina means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.
What else ya got?
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