[dull boy]

I am... the personification of persona containment. A constant contemplation of conscious. God debated squabbles with walls I'd made up. Drawn a face on and qualm with days long. My facade's a makeshift quasi shapeshift. Lopsided grey tint over my cross eyed basis. Our life's wasted. Check the archive. I eagled the par 5 playing with a shard of pipe and aching shins. I'm at a Far Cry Jamaican's crib eating hard rice and bacon strips. Hotter than a sauna of Cajuns making java with Haitians in a Guatemalan fuck it, I'm fucking hot. Stomach's bubbling. Bubbles pop on my tongue 'cause it's fucking hot. Lung is caldron of something hot. They tried to muzzle me but it crumbled and melted off. Conundrums occurring in consequence of befuddled God's tonguing my couple cocks. I've got multiple genitalia and none of 'em are pussy. I'm rubbing 'em in pudding while none of 'em are looking 'cause it's funny to be putting one over on J-hovah's. I'm Hulk Hogan on coke. Eating Joe Rogan. You can't factor the fear happening here. Open oceans. I captain the Kraken, on it's back with a beer slapping it's ear.