Putting the va-jay-jay on the shelf…

In this chameleon known to dwell aloof of a sacred existence, it’s the va-jay-jay in a bottle for the prime price of only – your soul. If you buy the sound system that comes attached it’ll make the squeaky sentiment of the purest form. Like a cheerleader laminating her lips and trying to spread sunshine in and out and over and under and doing it again and again…and cut to next scene..

Inserting the tampon oh so carefully, she melts through an extremity of variety. Once in while this chameleon may be known to find the little something that can and will divide.  But, my eyes..it’s the clapping of the feet and the squealing of the lesser of the two (shelved items)..

We cross paths in order to find what we all need in the pussy-lined papers that only the corrupt mavins will sign.

I think I’ll find a way to avoid the substance and shelf the va-jay-jay for a bit…or at least until I find the way to my primordial clit.

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