Yesterday I went to breakfast at a locally opened restaurant. I chose a counter seat far enough away from a cockroach
to, I thought, avoid the perpetual sloppy blow job. Wrong. Again.
When you, the cockroaches, gush platitudes about foreigners, you are blowing smoke up your own asses. Can you speak Japanese?
Matthew Anthony Fox (NY4258380) and I were riding in a black taxi near Tokyo Station. The driver, a cocksucker of the first order, asked if we could use East Asian eating utensils. Fox went off on him. I was so proud. Here, for decades, I'd been patiently wiping the cum from my lips.
You think I'm drunk on my power? Talk about externalising.
