Let Them Breathe Free!

Breasts, Marley, girls who mad dog and the boys who love them

Saturday, it was Club Rubber for Damian Sanders' and John Huntington's fifth anniversary, and they had real-live-human Rubber Dolls, who came in big boxes that had things written on them like "Bigger Tits!" which was funny. The breasts that were walking around in the Galaxy Concert Theatrecould have had their own ZIP codes or their own votes—I mean, those were some big fucking breasts. I was getting buffeted and shoved through the halls like I was that poor boy who shot up Santana High School, and finally, I coldly and premeditatedly assed a girl who was in my way because I didn't like her looks—just knocked her the fuck out, really; it's a very strong ass. It's very rare that I feel like a prude, but, man, some of those chicks at Club Rubber are really bizarre, you know? But a nice Asian boy started licking on my neck and telling me he wanted to give me pleasure, which was sweet for a minute, but then that was enough of that. At any rate, it was much better than the best-friend duo who were trying to steal me from each other even though I am not an animal! and belonged to neither of them anyway (I was yearning to breathe free!). If my friends and I tried to steal boys from each other, we wouldn't stay friends very long, you dig?

And then I met Eek-a-Mouse! No shit! And by the end of the night, there were four little girls shooting looks at one another as he decided which he wanted, even though they probably hadn't heard of him before that night because he's old school, and they were, like, 12.But famous is famous, so pick me!

Love, love, love! CommieGirl99@hotmail.com

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