forsooth!

Simon pokes me in my peepee! Where is superman? He swore up and down on his dopehead gramma's grave just last night after a graceless milking of our pet horse and joyless sex that, no matter what, he would be here to save me from the peepee poker, Simon BungHaplets. If Satan were available in gravy form, I'd ladle generous heapings upon superman's fugly mug. Darn head porpoise! And now my peepee needs bandaging and cold compresses and soft attentive wallaby caresses.