Listening to my jam from the 80's and early 90's gets me nostalgic. Sweet Child of Mine, Pour Some Sugar, and November Rain always bring back visions of sweet female creatures that would cause even imissplatinumplus scramble for softcore gifs to compare. One brunette goddess promptly dumped my *** after I went full retard at DNF after Polk pulled some stupid **** with a top 10 ranked team and Jay Powell blew a save in a mid-week crap fest vs. Millsaps or something.
One fiesty blonde gave me the pink slip when I bumped a date with her to go watch Sleepy Robinson and Crew stomp the everlivin' **** out of Spurrier's gaytas on a fateful Thursday night with a buddy. She could make Trump blush with how she described handling the package. Somehow, I justified MSU sports over personal gratification. Sometimes it's downright haunting. Other times, it seems like priorities were in perfect order. Every man has his white whale.
I call her Torture. "Come and see me," said the angelic voice from a mere 5 hours away. Nah, I'm a complete stupid jackass of a man. I've got better things to do, like drink Bud Ice and shoot rifles at deer decoys on Octoc Road. After hits and misses, she finally called it off. The pursuit is weak with this one, fellas. She goes on to finish school, gets some tattoos, gets some crazy out of her system, never gets married, and is still working with special needs kids out west. Still smoking hot. Like I said, Torture is her name, and my idiocy is unmatched.
IMPP thread today had a girl that reminds me of my Torture. Impeccable taste; hats off to you sir. And yet, it heralds melancholy hypotheticals of what might have been if not for the grass-roots, down home appeal of a place called Starkville...
One fiesty blonde gave me the pink slip when I bumped a date with her to go watch Sleepy Robinson and Crew stomp the everlivin' **** out of Spurrier's gaytas on a fateful Thursday night with a buddy. She could make Trump blush with how she described handling the package. Somehow, I justified MSU sports over personal gratification. Sometimes it's downright haunting. Other times, it seems like priorities were in perfect order. Every man has his white whale.
I call her Torture. "Come and see me," said the angelic voice from a mere 5 hours away. Nah, I'm a complete stupid jackass of a man. I've got better things to do, like drink Bud Ice and shoot rifles at deer decoys on Octoc Road. After hits and misses, she finally called it off. The pursuit is weak with this one, fellas. She goes on to finish school, gets some tattoos, gets some crazy out of her system, never gets married, and is still working with special needs kids out west. Still smoking hot. Like I said, Torture is her name, and my idiocy is unmatched.
IMPP thread today had a girl that reminds me of my Torture. Impeccable taste; hats off to you sir. And yet, it heralds melancholy hypotheticals of what might have been if not for the grass-roots, down home appeal of a place called Starkville...
