When my mother was pregnant with me, you
went from 185 pounds of bench press, to 250 pound of fat, trying to steal food
from her, and forcing her to spend.
After the pregnancy, you gained an
additional one hundred, since she had dropped weight, having delivered the
child.
She raised me as a New England cop and a
politician, and paired me with her Troika mates from her feminist rally days,
she was spying on for the US Navy, posing as MI-6 and Mossad writer’s lab
psychiatry. She then paired me, through you, with Matt Lennox, an
unplanned child you’d arranged for my playmate, rejected by his mother, a gay
heterosexual dominant by trick of your observation.
When my mother dropped weight, you forced her onto her pills, despite her mind
recovering, and her doctors pronouncing her cured.
Are you a cocaine dealer, in your
background, Dad?
I started up a drug operation, on
amphetamines, freshman year, with the consigliere, and an NYPD informant
teacher he’d arranged, through her father, female, and was forced to be
accountable for the case study failure of the scheme, a legalization of
marijuana.
You set up a syndicate kingnpin
structure, for a serial murderer lieutenant, killing ECT proponents in power,
that used them for landscaping.
You’re allergic to pollen, from grass.
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