This is terrifying because y'all are fucking ruthless, but please write me one out of ten.

10 out of 10 you are gorgeous plus the hair amazing

10,000

Howdy partner. What good sense would it make for me to rate you if I can't get with you? I know this ain't a dating app but goddamn, wasted energy.

Now let me get back in your head. You look like a discombobbing, letting philosophical conflict disable the Kripaki, crawfish, half-fine, and autistic out about to on the Chacha side of a 17-day game. Alright, see the base mail, your grandmother got rabied, cool-tomadaguchi, but a northern out-of-home boy. Check this out, and yes, I'm playing. I swear to God, I really gotta get to the track, and to rack it, and to take it, and to take it, and to flip it, and to rip it, and to dip it, and to slip it, and to dip it, and to rip it, and to tip it, and to tip it, and to tip it,

Mama, where milky? Mama? Mama, I bet you gouged my eyes out with your nails. Step on me please. Do whatever you want. My God.

I catch you in the streets.