*Dearest Full Tilt Poker:
For a couple of years now your website has supplied this family with a little extra income so we can enjoy some finer things in life, like going to Arby’s and splurging on one of those delicious Apple Turnovers after a filling meal while the kids enjoy the latest plastic toy which will get thrown away before we leave the building. Or hitting up the local outdoor strip mall (even during the winter HAR HAR!) and buying a few pairs of sexy, soft cotton underwear (I hate the word “panty”) at Victoria’s Secret instead of that rough shit from Kmart.
But lately the kids and I have been woken by noise in the night. No, not those noises, as I can tell the difference between my husband complaining about poker and finding the perfect double penetration amateur porn to wack off to. For some reason he thinks I don’t know about the spooge-fest, so lets keep that little bit of information between us m’kay? The yells lately are not the ones laced with testosterone after conquering another player and funding another trip to Archivers so I get my 16th pair of scissors that cuts paper in a yet another totally cool way! These yells are from various cock-shriveling defeats at your wonderful Battle of the Blogger Tournament series. He appreciates all the wonderful gifts you’re throwing at the internet scribes and Riverchasers patrons, but wonders why your random number generator is inclined to put a finger up his spine almost every night he stays up to play after re-reading “Crocodile Bus” to the soon-to-be two year old that won’t go to bed? I am the only one allowed to fuck my husband up the ass according to the church we were married at several years ago.
Be aware of this.
Because next time you even think about going near that poop chute with some rag cards to bust his hand after he plays for three hours and ends up waking the kids because you thought it was funny to leave him hanging after a dry hand job with no peppermint lotion causing me to have to deal him humping my leg at one a.m. while muttering “wrap draw” “fuckin Ace-Rag” I will swim to Dublin and personally take my 27oz. Combat softball bat to the kneecaps of everyone since I hate getting my hair wet in the ocean due to the snarls.
Just so we have an understanding, bust him early so he can masturbate and go to sleep, or keep the 15 aces in the deck from hitting the river so he can lose on his own terms.
Or I will bring the pain.
Thank you,
Drizz’s Wife
*this post was written in jest as she’d never swing for the kneecaps and I'm totally kidding as I do enjoy these tourneys and Full Tilt just that the "beats" are becoming hard to handle after two months
For a couple of years now your website has supplied this family with a little extra income so we can enjoy some finer things in life, like going to Arby’s and splurging on one of those delicious Apple Turnovers after a filling meal while the kids enjoy the latest plastic toy which will get thrown away before we leave the building. Or hitting up the local outdoor strip mall (even during the winter HAR HAR!) and buying a few pairs of sexy, soft cotton underwear (I hate the word “panty”) at Victoria’s Secret instead of that rough shit from Kmart.
But lately the kids and I have been woken by noise in the night. No, not those noises, as I can tell the difference between my husband complaining about poker and finding the perfect double penetration amateur porn to wack off to. For some reason he thinks I don’t know about the spooge-fest, so lets keep that little bit of information between us m’kay? The yells lately are not the ones laced with testosterone after conquering another player and funding another trip to Archivers so I get my 16th pair of scissors that cuts paper in a yet another totally cool way! These yells are from various cock-shriveling defeats at your wonderful Battle of the Blogger Tournament series. He appreciates all the wonderful gifts you’re throwing at the internet scribes and Riverchasers patrons, but wonders why your random number generator is inclined to put a finger up his spine almost every night he stays up to play after re-reading “Crocodile Bus” to the soon-to-be two year old that won’t go to bed? I am the only one allowed to fuck my husband up the ass according to the church we were married at several years ago.
Be aware of this.
Because next time you even think about going near that poop chute with some rag cards to bust his hand after he plays for three hours and ends up waking the kids because you thought it was funny to leave him hanging after a dry hand job with no peppermint lotion causing me to have to deal him humping my leg at one a.m. while muttering “wrap draw” “fuckin Ace-Rag” I will swim to Dublin and personally take my 27oz. Combat softball bat to the kneecaps of everyone since I hate getting my hair wet in the ocean due to the snarls.
Just so we have an understanding, bust him early so he can masturbate and go to sleep, or keep the 15 aces in the deck from hitting the river so he can lose on his own terms.
Or I will bring the pain.
Thank you,
Drizz’s Wife
*this post was written in jest as she’d never swing for the kneecaps and I'm totally kidding as I do enjoy these tourneys and Full Tilt just that the "beats" are becoming hard to handle after two months
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