 |
 |
|||
 |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
 |
|
||
 |
|
|||
 |
|
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
A fable about inner dilemmas
There was an impractical pervert who yearned to shift more deviant from his condition of wearing shirred underpants inside-out during irrepressible moods of flamboyance.
Exampled among the tangled questions wrestling between his breasts were, "Should the voyeur take brief notes?" and "Does bread need teeth to be real?" and even "Will water ever find a Savior?"
Nonetheless, despite all this soul-searching, he never could find the house keys so he could split from his hellish home and exhibit his doubtful personalities.
As it would be, these were well beyond his grasp beneath insides-out underwear, and then within a satin-lined side pocket, as well.
Moral: One's gotta getta betta grip.