by Molly Wally Polly
To not masturbate on my mommy’s bed to get even with her when she prepares my Campbell’s Cream of Potato soup with a cup of water instead of a cup of whole milk.
To not hide my sibling’s tampons when she comes home and eats my box of Annie’s Classic Mac and Cheese.
To treat my heinie gentler and not subject it to immoderate wipings based on the off chance that the Janjaweed will invade my all-white suburban enclave and gang rape me.
To not slit my wrist when mommy forgets to buy the loaf of Italian bread that I asked her to.
To kiss pop superstar Jason Derulo on the mouth (but no tongue -- that’s icky).
To try and be friendlier to girls even though they all hate me and envy me because my pussy tastes better than an everything bagel and I am the most talented young woman of letters since Ann Frank.
To get the A&F jegging in green and in red.
To set aside a couple of minutes at the finale of each day to sit and reflect and ask myself, “Molly Wally Polly, is there any opportunity that you might of missed today that would’ve lead to you being blissfully ravished by 15 black studs with pulsing horse cocks?”
Last night, Molly Wally Polly watched Heathers.
Showing posts with label Molly Wally Polly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Molly Wally Polly. Show all posts
Handjobs Are Bleak Unless You Have Some Lube, Then They Can Be Pretty Decent, It Mainly Comes Down to Technique, I Guess
by Molly Wally Polly
Once a boy came to visit me and because it was the Recession he didn’t have any money so he took the Coach bus so he smelled awful because only people with hairy armpits and pimples on their anus ride that mode of transportation. So he wouldn’t let me give him a blowjob. He said: “No, babe; my balls are too stinky. Let’s just watch the Real World San Diego instead, and, maybe, if you’re quiet, I’ll let you give me an HJ during the semi-long MTV commercial breaks.”
I said: “Handjobs are for freshman. I’m a sophomore, bitch. I don’t touch meat: I suck it.”
He said: “Babe, I’ve had a tiring day on the Coach. The driver kept razzing me about my distressed jeans. So, please, let’s just keep it low key with some sausage strokes.”
I said: “Fuck you, bitch. When my mommy gets back from Starbucks, I’m gonna tell her that you raped me with a Bundt cake.”
He said: “Are you on your period?”
I said: “No, but I just pooped out my bagel and lox. So if you don’t subject me to ATM before the next cast member takes off his shirt, I will officially charge you with sexual assault.”
If Molly Wally Polly wins then the prize money will go toward the purchase of a dark, dark dildo no less than 11 inches and classy lubricant.
Once a boy came to visit me and because it was the Recession he didn’t have any money so he took the Coach bus so he smelled awful because only people with hairy armpits and pimples on their anus ride that mode of transportation. So he wouldn’t let me give him a blowjob. He said: “No, babe; my balls are too stinky. Let’s just watch the Real World San Diego instead, and, maybe, if you’re quiet, I’ll let you give me an HJ during the semi-long MTV commercial breaks.”
I said: “Handjobs are for freshman. I’m a sophomore, bitch. I don’t touch meat: I suck it.”
He said: “Babe, I’ve had a tiring day on the Coach. The driver kept razzing me about my distressed jeans. So, please, let’s just keep it low key with some sausage strokes.”
I said: “Fuck you, bitch. When my mommy gets back from Starbucks, I’m gonna tell her that you raped me with a Bundt cake.”
He said: “Are you on your period?”
I said: “No, but I just pooped out my bagel and lox. So if you don’t subject me to ATM before the next cast member takes off his shirt, I will officially charge you with sexual assault.”
If Molly Wally Polly wins then the prize money will go toward the purchase of a dark, dark dildo no less than 11 inches and classy lubricant.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)