I am literally marathoning the first half of the first sentence

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>>8390105
Help me. My degenerated brain cells mischievously replicate the world within my skull as a choice between three or more regrettable sexual encounters.

The incorrigible moaning of my lonely gonads is deeply moving, but only if heard from a distance which also abates its tremors. Remember, when you stroke a dialectician, you are really stroking a dialectician.

With all my somber bones, a merry thread, a merry thread, and engrossing moans.

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>>8390122

>>8390446
Methinks you quite don't quite get the severity of my plight quite.

I am appealing to you, fellow, as one man appeals to another when he knows, as we must all one day come to know, that our appeals fall on mute ears; not so much that we cannot be heard, but that what hears will not speak to us.

Perhaps your perceptive soul requires a tighter, bouncier illustration of my problem. If that is the case, I will be most pleased to oblige your appetite for detail. I am a sad, sad man and details are all I have to offer. I will illustrate it for you with bold, mendacious words; my trouble.

It is like this, you see; not very long ago I was happy, like fat tic on a dog, and then, for mysterious reasons, I grew unhappy. Rather than returning to this initial condition, which I found very pleasant, I merely grew unhappier.

There is a thorny tactile hallucination that rotates in the center of my gut, as though it were full of ornery, trembling urchins. Their miserable needles pierce my insides but, like a perverted uncle, leave no wound and thereby continue their corrupt games. At the same time, I am afraid of breaking them. Although they are not real, if they were real, which they almost certainly would be if I broke them, then they would be made of glass.

I have a belly full of sad, spiky glass babies that I do not wish to break. I must always be very cautious with my movements. A loser at work, Kevin, likes to slap me in the gut. I am worried he will break my precious trinkets and then I will be a nobody. Whenever people offer me money for sexual favors, I usually decline because, since an accident in my childhood (involving a meat truck and a blow-torch), I cannot tell US presidents apart.

I could go on. But that option is not unique to me.