Imagine going to little Gracie's soccer game and setting up your lawn chair. As you slip on your green visor and water bugs, you spot something across the field and your armpits start watering up with unshed tears of the body. You recognize the beauty over yonder as Mrs. Red, Beyoncé's mom. She's always wanted my son, Gracie Pittman, to fail. As she sets up her chair beside mine and yells at the refs that aren't even on duty yet, my fists clench and my back forms an arch. You jump up from the chair, set your daughter Bobra down and swing your fist at her lovely face. She catches your fist mid-swing and says, "Bounce, pounce, trounce." and continues to grow marijuana behind her lawn chair.
YOU ARE READING
Imagines ↠Atoolred
RandomYou and I both know that your fantasies can never be quenched; however, these invigorating tales will hopefully help those insatiable desires for all you frickin fricks. May Toolie have mercy on your soul. P.S. All edits are made by me
