melting hydrosphere

misandry does not exist, darling

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when you try to eliminate the probabilities of stinking in the wiress of both dumped bozo of a brain and rotting flies swarming over a pile of shits in river-made garbages, think about the fragility of her broken finger nails beaten by the gap on her teeth. when you try to open up a casket full of the stench the vapor of rotten mold has wrapped around a braindead pea brain, remember to cover your magnanimous ego-centric larynx diarrhea. it shits a ton of xjskldjslsnwksl no one has ever deciphered, warned no language has ever detected.

it thinks shorter than an hour travel of the snail trendline and penis not even reaching half of a half foot that i forgot your eyeballs was there to function with your stretched up smooth central nerves than your tongue a reciprocal of your uneven no-sense-of-a-man mass in between your thighs. but what would we expect with someone who jerked thrice more than he washes his weener, more than he washes his own extra large brief? sometimes none, sometimes more, sometimes it's time to eliminate the probabilities of trying to figure a man who's got no man in the corner of his peas and conclude that all he is will only be the dirt on the gap of her teeth: a nuisance wilding to escape our judging vomits (with broken—fragile—masculinity).

ugh! he stinks of the rotting vapor his dumbed down brainbozo breathed of malfunction—he haven't used in years, perhaps forgotten just like he will soon be. pity but honey, even if you try, misandry does not exist.

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misandry does not exist never will be but hatred on men do and i hate men. and so should you especially if you're a man.