given that i have been screwing with her body long enough (her mind for even longer), my veepee for marketing deserves a post. if i could only name her, i would charge her an arm and a leg for this exposure.
i can actually squeeze this post into two words:
fucktard.
dimbecile.
yes, those are actually four words but i just can't avoid describing her in a mentally unstable kind of way because let's face it, had it been any different, she wouldn't be working for me, would she. it's not like she would miss how i fuck her. it's more that she knows she wouldn't survive the real P&G and Unilever jungles. quid pro quo, as doctor hannibal would say. you work for me and in return i give you the hope that you will be the queen someday (not to mention i fuck you whenever i well damn please).
one more hint of her being mentally unstable is that she is given to crying a lot like a fucking sissy. crying as in tears. in meetings, on the phone, while doing product testing, during a tv shoot. wtf. and she's into all these drugs so she could fall asleep. tsk, tsk, maybe i just need to fuck her some more.
freaks have always attracted me, the uglier, the better. like those explorers of yore venturing into terra incognita, there is that primal calling to shame, use, and eventually discard my second in command. she just doesn't know it yet.
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