Vespy Rides Gunshot To The BEST CULTIVATE ULTIMATE Contest

The end was in the cards. Aces up, she's got the jack. The end read like a harlequin romance, sputtering flame into fireworks. You never said no, my dearest. In fact, you said the opposite, breathing in heavier gulps, smelling salts were needed. Bish bosh, don't let me catch the sun coming down before I am through. Vespy was sure of himself, much too sure and confident. Brazenly, he catapulted into your world, destined to become number one. The rite of bad genetics mixed with superior alloys. Makes a boy hungry, oh, so hungry, famished and starved for attention of one. The mighty Brazilian sated finally at the remains of me. He never faltered, he was beyond everything I had dreamed of as a young girls, my mouth full of stones and my back felt the wind. He called my name often as he came through town. "Maree!" he sang in the ocean tidewaters, he was adrift in the sea. A paradox of angels versus the added delights of the sunshine. Deep senses are a thing of the future. Prophets wept at the thought of his power. The results were a thousand times as fair as the weather balloon came down in Africa. It was pink and green and a torrent of red red smelling of blood, thought I would die that day, certain in the knowledge of carnal feelings but not knowing of pain then. The heart knows no blame or no moral code. It had a deep rift where the top was broken into four. Depending on the holiday, it was a hit or miss the band.