He wanna be a big man in the coming years.
The kind of man who'll make every jaws dropped every once that he took a shout. The kind of man that every single thing he done will hypnotize others to unconsciously uttering the 'wow' word. That he didn't do nothing but impressed and gaining respect. And he'll die happy.
Shove it up since that was all for the future.
Because right at this very moment, he was a lousy dude, writing something that for some, didn't even make any sense. Rubbish. The automated teller machine card stuck in his left side of his wallet will determine where will he be on the next fourty eight hours.
The new year is coming and he wished for god to show a little bit of tolerance this fucking time.
Five years ago, he will occasionally pray for a better tomorrow. He ain't never go beyond that. He believes that, the day after tomorrow, whether it is good or bad, it is a road need taken. It's well written by Him. He reluctantly wish neither that he hope.
And then comes an Irish stripper. Dancing and shaking all the fancy part of her body, like there is any more or less. Letting that already loosen clothes departing her silky body. He stand still with no fucking erection.
Fuck! as he walk away, leaving that Irish whore insatiably insane.
Bulls. Oh god. He need no fucking stripper but a goddamn money. You get him some of that and then only he'll go find himself a fucking stripper. With ass.
No, I mean this 's'.
Happy New Year. God bless me.