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09 Ağustos 2023, 21:30
The following is an act of fiction. All characters are figments of imagination.
(Ronald K. Pump lies in bed, atop the covers. He wears a puffy white bathrobe and has Cocks News blaring in the background. Ronald is in dim spirits. He is sipping a Diet Croak, half-heartedly scrolling his phone, and lamenting his current life.)
Ronald: This job sucks. I used to have the most tremendous, most incredible life.
I had helicopters and shit. I was banging underwear models, beauty pageant contestants, IG floozies... I did whatever I wanted. ANYTHING I wanted. Anywhere! I could fuck any broad! Any broad I wanted!
Now I can't do shit. I can't fuck anyone. Ronald K. Pump can't get pussy? What the fuck? Like I'm a loser, like I'm an incel?
I actually have a job now! A job! Like a putz! A working stiff! This is bullshit! Bullshit! Believe me, big league bullshit!
Not even Stelania will fuck me anymore. Gold-digger tramp won't share the same bedroom. Used to be I could close my eyes and think of prettier younger women while I gave her the hot beef injection.
Not anymore. The bitch. Washed up, has been, good for nothing whore!
Not that I really wanna fuck that old bag anyway. She's certainly reached her expiration date, believe me. She sure hasn't aged well at all.
She could take some lessons from that MILF French first lady. Hell, I'd bang the shit out of that Frenchie fuckbag right now.
What the fuck? What is this shit? I'm a billionaire. I am a fucking billionaire. I have A LOT OF MONEY. TED TRILLION ZILLION DOLLARS.
These pansies, cryin' snowflakes on Shitter, PNN, making me out to be an animal.
Ronald K. Pump is no animal. I have standards. I don't just go and grab any pussy. Only the finest, first class, classiest, premium pussy does Ronald K. Pump grab.
Fucking glibtards. Washed up Haxine Maters, Cryin' Fuck and Crazy Nanny, making out Ronald K. Pump to be a baboon running around, pinning down and mounting anything with a twat.
What do they think I am, Horny Bill? Big Bitch Banging Clitting? Not that I blame the goofball. Crooked Shillary and those cankles? Nasty woman! Get the hell outta here! I'd rather fuck Plus Size Blue Dress Veronica too...
Under normal circumstances, however, no, zero chance, no way, hombre. Ronald K. Pump only fucks the top-notch snatch. Only the hottest, finest, sweetest, hard body heinie.
Only the pure ass. The roundest, softest and firmest and shapeliest ass. The most stupendous tail that ever filled out a dress. That's the sorta tail Ronald K. Pump gets.
But not now, no!
Goddammit, I hate this job. Every day, another stupid thing to deal with when I'm trying to watch TV, play golf. There's always some stupid bullshit, some twinkle toed flunky knocking on my door, "Mr. Proctologist, we need you..." BORING!
Always some loser wanting my time. Some cuck. Always another schedule. Another thing I have to do. It sucks!
I wish they would impair me. I'd ditch that old bag Stelania and find a new piece of hot young ass.
I'd go on Instablam and find the hottest, tightest paddle target, eat a mouthful of BlowChew, and beast-fuck that choice pussy.
I'm a billionaire. A BILLIONAIRE. I can snap my fingers and pussy will appear. Rub my cock and magic genie Dream of Jeannie pussy appears. Magic carpet pussy.
I'M A FUCKING TRILLIONAIRE. I can order PUSSY ON DEMAND. ONE CLICK PUSSY. Delivery pussy. Pizza pussy. Drone pussy. I could push a button and pussy flies in from a drone through my window.
Pussy crawling out the fireplace, Santa Pussy, pussy under the Christmas tree, jingle bell pussy, dammit!
ANY PUSSY I WANT.
But not now, not now, for fuck's sake... This stupid being Proctologist bullshit!
Truth is, I haven't even seen a living, breathing, live ham wallet since the champagne. Sure, I tried to fuck a few of my champagne maids, but no luck.
Stupid snowflake millennials. They're the worst. Buncha wacky man buns and SJW poser losers and stuck-up phone addict data cunts.
Used to be all my secretaries would give me meat curtains on demand.
Push a button under my desk and a big buhzumba secretary would rush into the room, yank up her skirt and down with the panties. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Send her home to her husband.
But not these millennial, whiny crybabies. Stingy with the pussy, believe me.
Like Smoking Hot Dope Dicks. Couldn't even get her to jerk me off. The hell is this world coming to!?
Sure, the old hag, horny horseface Smellyanne offered to blow me. Yeah, right, like I'm Crazy Bertie Kanders with an old shriveled up turtle dick. For Crazy Bertie that old dog is a piece of ass.
But not for me. I only fuck quality. I fuck porn stars, for crying out loud. I'm a fucking Gazillionaire!
Yeesh, had this nightmare the other night that that fatty Tara Flanders walked into the Oval Orifice in an S
(Ronald K. Pump lies in bed, atop the covers. He wears a puffy white bathrobe and has Cocks News blaring in the background. Ronald is in dim spirits. He is sipping a Diet Croak, half-heartedly scrolling his phone, and lamenting his current life.)
Ronald: This job sucks. I used to have the most tremendous, most incredible life.
I had helicopters and shit. I was banging underwear models, beauty pageant contestants, IG floozies... I did whatever I wanted. ANYTHING I wanted. Anywhere! I could fuck any broad! Any broad I wanted!
Now I can't do shit. I can't fuck anyone. Ronald K. Pump can't get pussy? What the fuck? Like I'm a loser, like I'm an incel?
I actually have a job now! A job! Like a putz! A working stiff! This is bullshit! Bullshit! Believe me, big league bullshit!
Not even Stelania will fuck me anymore. Gold-digger tramp won't share the same bedroom. Used to be I could close my eyes and think of prettier younger women while I gave her the hot beef injection.
Not anymore. The bitch. Washed up, has been, good for nothing whore!
Not that I really wanna fuck that old bag anyway. She's certainly reached her expiration date, believe me. She sure hasn't aged well at all.
She could take some lessons from that MILF French first lady. Hell, I'd bang the shit out of that Frenchie fuckbag right now.
What the fuck? What is this shit? I'm a billionaire. I am a fucking billionaire. I have A LOT OF MONEY. TED TRILLION ZILLION DOLLARS.
These pansies, cryin' snowflakes on Shitter, PNN, making me out to be an animal.
Ronald K. Pump is no animal. I have standards. I don't just go and grab any pussy. Only the finest, first class, classiest, premium pussy does Ronald K. Pump grab.
Fucking glibtards. Washed up Haxine Maters, Cryin' Fuck and Crazy Nanny, making out Ronald K. Pump to be a baboon running around, pinning down and mounting anything with a twat.
What do they think I am, Horny Bill? Big Bitch Banging Clitting? Not that I blame the goofball. Crooked Shillary and those cankles? Nasty woman! Get the hell outta here! I'd rather fuck Plus Size Blue Dress Veronica too...
Under normal circumstances, however, no, zero chance, no way, hombre. Ronald K. Pump only fucks the top-notch snatch. Only the hottest, finest, sweetest, hard body heinie.
Only the pure ass. The roundest, softest and firmest and shapeliest ass. The most stupendous tail that ever filled out a dress. That's the sorta tail Ronald K. Pump gets.
But not now, no!
Goddammit, I hate this job. Every day, another stupid thing to deal with when I'm trying to watch TV, play golf. There's always some stupid bullshit, some twinkle toed flunky knocking on my door, "Mr. Proctologist, we need you..." BORING!
Always some loser wanting my time. Some cuck. Always another schedule. Another thing I have to do. It sucks!
I wish they would impair me. I'd ditch that old bag Stelania and find a new piece of hot young ass.
I'd go on Instablam and find the hottest, tightest paddle target, eat a mouthful of BlowChew, and beast-fuck that choice pussy.
I'm a billionaire. A BILLIONAIRE. I can snap my fingers and pussy will appear. Rub my cock and magic genie Dream of Jeannie pussy appears. Magic carpet pussy.
I'M A FUCKING TRILLIONAIRE. I can order PUSSY ON DEMAND. ONE CLICK PUSSY. Delivery pussy. Pizza pussy. Drone pussy. I could push a button and pussy flies in from a drone through my window.
Pussy crawling out the fireplace, Santa Pussy, pussy under the Christmas tree, jingle bell pussy, dammit!
ANY PUSSY I WANT.
But not now, not now, for fuck's sake... This stupid being Proctologist bullshit!
Truth is, I haven't even seen a living, breathing, live ham wallet since the champagne. Sure, I tried to fuck a few of my champagne maids, but no luck.
Stupid snowflake millennials. They're the worst. Buncha wacky man buns and SJW poser losers and stuck-up phone addict data cunts.
Used to be all my secretaries would give me meat curtains on demand.
Push a button under my desk and a big buhzumba secretary would rush into the room, yank up her skirt and down with the panties. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Send her home to her husband.
But not these millennial, whiny crybabies. Stingy with the pussy, believe me.
Like Smoking Hot Dope Dicks. Couldn't even get her to jerk me off. The hell is this world coming to!?
Sure, the old hag, horny horseface Smellyanne offered to blow me. Yeah, right, like I'm Crazy Bertie Kanders with an old shriveled up turtle dick. For Crazy Bertie that old dog is a piece of ass.
But not for me. I only fuck quality. I fuck porn stars, for crying out loud. I'm a fucking Gazillionaire!
Yeesh, had this nightmare the other night that that fatty Tara Flanders walked into the Oval Orifice in an S