CACarot
Where is Princess Fajita
Let me paint you this picture 
Me, at the penthouse suite my stomach making sounds you could only here at a meth lab. I pull up to the bathroom barefoot so I can fill the chill of the marble floors on my feet . Sit on the commode and I'm thinking I'll be in an out quickly cuz. The reverb of my turds hitting the water reminds me of the days we had to flush dope down the toilet cause the federalli's got a tip from crimestoppers on where they could find the "Powder Rangers".
But I digress, like when you meet a bad bytch at the club that offers to buy you a drink , something was different about this. I felt like I was giving birth to the sins of man, my stomach started shaking no different than being on rep 9 of ya third set on the ab roller. My sphincter stamina was depleted trying to expel this but ya boy made no head way as I knew I was barely crowning. Terror never felt so palpable. I reached another plane of consciousness as I could hear shapes and taste sizes. I swore they was going to find me like Elvis but with a butthole like Freddy Mercury
(R.I.P). I panicked , knowing I was home alone and couldn't call anybody incase this became a matter of life or death. I left my phone in the room connected to the pill speakers bumping Thug motivation. If the beats could connect to my heart tho it would have been playing Bonnie Tyler I need a hero. I think that was a sign tho , cause a thug needed motivation to persevere.
I placed my hand on the side of the wall and the counter for stability and I really believe I went KaioKen as I gave my last bit of power to purging my body. In one swift movement I defeated all odds as it slipped out of me but it left me a parting gift of a migraine for my battle. As I looked in the toilet at my conquered foe mounted above the water and my toilet with a new interior brown colored paint job I ceremoniously flushed him away knowing it could have easily been me on the other side of this encounter. But even from he grave he tormented me as his passage required two flushes to disperese.
I stand here writing to you today not as a victim but as a survivor. Share you survival stories breh's
Me, at the penthouse suite my stomach making sounds you could only here at a meth lab. I pull up to the bathroom barefoot so I can fill the chill of the marble floors on my feet . Sit on the commode and I'm thinking I'll be in an out quickly cuz. The reverb of my turds hitting the water reminds me of the days we had to flush dope down the toilet cause the federalli's got a tip from crimestoppers on where they could find the "Powder Rangers".
But I digress, like when you meet a bad bytch at the club that offers to buy you a drink , something was different about this. I felt like I was giving birth to the sins of man, my stomach started shaking no different than being on rep 9 of ya third set on the ab roller. My sphincter stamina was depleted trying to expel this but ya boy made no head way as I knew I was barely crowning. Terror never felt so palpable. I reached another plane of consciousness as I could hear shapes and taste sizes. I swore they was going to find me like Elvis but with a butthole like Freddy Mercury
(R.I.P). I panicked , knowing I was home alone and couldn't call anybody incase this became a matter of life or death. I left my phone in the room connected to the pill speakers bumping Thug motivation. If the beats could connect to my heart tho it would have been playing Bonnie Tyler I need a hero. I think that was a sign tho , cause a thug needed motivation to persevere.I placed my hand on the side of the wall and the counter for stability and I really believe I went KaioKen as I gave my last bit of power to purging my body. In one swift movement I defeated all odds as it slipped out of me but it left me a parting gift of a migraine for my battle. As I looked in the toilet at my conquered foe mounted above the water and my toilet with a new interior brown colored paint job I ceremoniously flushed him away knowing it could have easily been me on the other side of this encounter. But even from he grave he tormented me as his passage required two flushes to disperese.
I stand here writing to you today not as a victim but as a survivor. Share you survival stories breh's
