It seems as though teamwork from the female side of the field is causing quite a stir in the local restoration business. Despite threats of constant violence and economic warfare fought at levels only before seeing during American benevolence abroad, our pesky but resolute band of bodacious bicyclists have raised the bar in personal service.
According to a really big woman that you probably don’t want to mess with, fear of wild and crazy men unable to control their penises running violently through the streets is at an end in Belliya. And the actually somewhat attractive if you look at her in a certain light sportsman had the following to say.
Our people have no problem going wherever they need to go to get whatever needs to get done done. And if someone is in need, by cracky, well you know already, don’t you? I mean, we are allowed to care about each other, right? We are not douchebags.
The service has confounded Empire forces and has managed, without any use of gasoline whatsoever, to make deliveries of fresh food, medicine, necessary winter clothing and even document moving or small presents from one to another. Seamlessly merged with our fresh bakeries, all working only with locally grown timbers, like, if you really need some tea and toast to help you remember that you don’t want to die, you give us a call and we are rolling up on you like you didn’t even think of it.
Two very popular girls traded in their pole dancing workouts for track bikes and messenger bags.
It just became a matter of choice. I was thinking really hard about what I wanted between my legs and suddenly I realized that a bicycle was probably my best choice all things considered.
I agree with my friend here in all things considered and everything she says because that is our relationship and I don’t mind telling you about it because she says that that would be best for me.
So far the no bribery policy seems to be holding for reasons none of us could understand. Some of our greatest but no longer quite so much trusted scientists told us that if we just paid the money and did what they wanted, maybe they would go away. Well, disgrace is not permanent in Utopia so they just don’t fucking work here anymore, the fat stupid fucks. But all animosity aside, if shit works, don’t break it but if it stinks, don’t roll in it. Words to the wise, Sveta.
Empire forces have noted a continuing lack of enthusiasm amongst the pollution set. It seems that the political world that is run by gasoline is not interested in anyone having anything nice ever in their lives except what you can get from your car. And they don’t like us making fresh bread and bringing it to your house by bicycle because this would defeat the whole purpose of having a car, wouldn’t it? We understand this thinking and we appreciate it and that’s why we don’t fucking buy anything anymore unless we really, really need it. Just saying.
One can hear the storm winds brewing. Or one is just smelling brewing on the storm winds. Or someone just broke wind and we should get some brews. Or we don’t drink and we’re just dicking around with words. The point is, the service is in business. And if you’re a friend, we got you. Safe is in your mother’s arms. Just as it always was and always will be here.
