Dear ,

No longer will I be keeping this a blank visage. Which means, I will no longer force your silly eyes to gawk at such fatuous sentences as the line before this one.

Observe little transition here...

We are all lost girls, legs wrapped tightly around the long, silver pole, otherwise known as the stripper's, 'one true lover'.

Here we are hanging upside-down with gravity-defying breasts. At the bottom, waits a fat dildo slightly larger than a horse's cock. This dildo is strapped to a toilet plunger, and the plunger is neatly suctioned to the floor.

As I said before, we are all lost girls, waiting at the top of the tin staff, and we're so lost you know what's next.

20 foot drop.

We slide one leg out from the other. Do a back flip, and before you can say, "colon cancer," our ass has swallowed a 13" dildo.

Like a gold metal gymnast, both arms in the air, we are no longer lost, but saved.

The audience is our savior.

To see each twisted face, each jaw dropped enough to mirror the asshole enveloping the freak dildo, and to hear silence for a whole 10 seconds is something everyone should worship.

This is astonishment in divine amounts, and being saved is the only payment that cannot be tucked between lips and garter belts.

Signed,

Coleen

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