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Dearest Warlord,
I feel that we are living in a cruel and bleak age.
We dwell somewhere between sex slaves and sex robots.
1510 - Rape
2010 - Jail
2510 - Rape
This notion bothers me. I question my will to live. Perhaps some form
of cryogenic freezing program will be effective?
I will have a note on my container stating: “Frozen. Summon from
hypersleep whenst sex robots hath been perfected”.
Heil war and lord…
Buntsdoom.
—
Dearest Buntsdoom,
It is with heartfelt regret that I peruse this epistle.
It does indeed spell the end of an era when ones balls have swollen to
the nth degree and I find my own constitution pissing on me.
May a time come of blatant debauchery where an anus may throb with the
intensity of a million brown dwarf implosions.
I desire my semen to be distributed throughout space so that it may
chance impregnation of an alien woman called jesus.
Masturbation,
Saffron Robed Warlord.
Senior Lord of War.
—
Thy immortal robed-one.
Heiled be thy legal rape of Humaniods…
Both our sacks have swollen to a point of no return. I will partake in
your discourse. We must build a rocket, cum all over it, send than
nigger into outer space and then wait for our half-cast, bastard
children to visit us from their homelands on Alpha Centauri.
Death to animals.
—
Common to a robe is a hood.
And whence under thine hood is throbbing.
Do you seek to uncover the riches?
And be sprayed with divine nectar?
The hooded lord dictates the actions of lesser heathen toads.
And sends them on vast adventures down ancient and much coveted roads.
I sit and pluck pubes from my ballsack; Purple.
Graduation from this school is certainly assured.
I study and practice day and night.
I bitch and moan and put up a fight.
Inevitably I give in to various fungal infections.
You are the one to blame for everything.
Basically, I no longer take any responsibility for anything.
Speak to my lawyer.
Pork.
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