It all started around 4pm PT last friday, when my period became officially tardy. I usually have a ritual for the whole ovulating process. I dim the lights, set up some incense, put on some rockin tunes by Trust Company and just sit their watching it bleed. Bleeding Through can actually thank me for their catchy moniker. (Hi Trev, if you're out there) Well anywho, I sat there in wait, in a puddle of my own desperation, as I watched the only thing eminate from my potpourris scented snatchufagn, being a dribble of pee that I didn't wipe free, before I applied the "Always" with wings to my nether regions of chastity defiled. I continued sitting there in sedentary seclusion waiting for my lipids to drip a drop of red gold, to no avail.
Some Backstory
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2 weeks ago I attended an art show in Sicily. It was the world premier of an up and coming artist from Milan who goes by the name of Susan Perian. (The name sounds Armenian, but I'm not certain)
To make a long story short, I am introduced to this socially awkward, yet mildly talented dame of the night. Who in turn, introduces me to one of the men in the picture that I hotlinked from the Sicilian Art Heritage Foundation's Website below.
I took this mystery man back to my room in an inebriated state of disarray. Next thing I know, he has flung me on to the bed with the authority of a level 51 blood elf looking to redeem his fallen brother Brocas. And with the ferocity of the steeds that pull Odin's chariot across the shore of Minnetonka, he spreaded my pad thai thighs apart and inserted his shelless turtle in to my aqueduct of asian seasoning. In and out, In and Out, with rapid fire precision double bass thrusts, he plundered my sashimi...That's all I remember.
So I come to you all now, a woman with nowhere to turn. I am clueless on who is the seed reaper. It may of been the bastard child of that fellow tully and that junkie derick, who you can clearly see walking amongst the crowd with a suave swagger sporting a PBR. Or it may have been the young lad to the right, whose portrait came out as blurry as my Home Pregnancy Test. I am not quite sure. All I know is that this child can not be a bastard!!! If I am to forsake my band for this love child, he must have a father!!!
Please help me!!
Some Backstory
------------------
2 weeks ago I attended an art show in Sicily. It was the world premier of an up and coming artist from Milan who goes by the name of Susan Perian. (The name sounds Armenian, but I'm not certain)
To make a long story short, I am introduced to this socially awkward, yet mildly talented dame of the night. Who in turn, introduces me to one of the men in the picture that I hotlinked from the Sicilian Art Heritage Foundation's Website below.
I took this mystery man back to my room in an inebriated state of disarray. Next thing I know, he has flung me on to the bed with the authority of a level 51 blood elf looking to redeem his fallen brother Brocas. And with the ferocity of the steeds that pull Odin's chariot across the shore of Minnetonka, he spreaded my pad thai thighs apart and inserted his shelless turtle in to my aqueduct of asian seasoning. In and out, In and Out, with rapid fire precision double bass thrusts, he plundered my sashimi...That's all I remember.
So I come to you all now, a woman with nowhere to turn. I am clueless on who is the seed reaper. It may of been the bastard child of that fellow tully and that junkie derick, who you can clearly see walking amongst the crowd with a suave swagger sporting a PBR. Or it may have been the young lad to the right, whose portrait came out as blurry as my Home Pregnancy Test. I am not quite sure. All I know is that this child can not be a bastard!!! If I am to forsake my band for this love child, he must have a father!!!
Please help me!!
