I Got You Babe

The blow, the girls, and the boat. Just kiss your wife goodbye, get into your almost-paid-off sedan, and drive on over. We’ll take the boat out in Oceanside. No more worries. We’ll just piss the fucking day away.

And when I’ve had enough of you, I’ll drop you off at the dock so you can stumble back to your car and into your wife’s arms.

But before that, you’ll be sucked mindless below deck, forced to eat us all out, and then scrub the deck in a fit of being really high on MDMA. Trust me, you’ll be so blitzed you’ll think you’re the king of the world, swabbing the decks with a grin like a lunatic.

Peter, that’s your job, you fucking prick. First, you get to clean the head, then give head.

I’ve got some black studs coming over — the entire Lakers basketball team — and you’re going to suck their cocks for me. Get down on your hands and knees, and when you look up, there’ll be a big prick just touching your nose. And I didn’t forget about you, Michael. You get to write about it. The headline reads: “Peter Piper Porks,” since you can only rhyme. Literate? Illiterate, you mean. Your taste in life is boring — something only a woman with endometriosis who never fucks you would find satisfying.

We’ll mess you up too; we’ll waterboard you over the deck, dunking your head in the water like a big fucking swirly, you nerd. Then, we’ll press our cheeks in your face and let out a loud rip, courtesy of all the OnlyFans girls with their cravings for Flaming Hot Cheetos.

How about those fumes, you fucking Nazi lover? Peter Piper Porks, and Michael writes the forks. You’ll both be getting dunked and spanked, then you’ll smell the farts of our OnlyFans cranks.

Think I’m joking? Nah.