I know that so badly, that you boys, want us goddesses to relate to you on many levels. Soulfully… Mentally… Emotionally… or emotionless because you guys think we, beautifully emotional creatures, are one golf ball short of a bogie. I draw the line at farting. So stop accusing us. You guys are just filthy and want us to be like you, cutting ass blasters everywhere you go. I know, we are cute and smell delicious. It would probably not please you more than to make us disgusting pigs, just like yourselves. But, let me be clear… In no way, will an air biscuit be forming to take away my bootilicious juiciness.
Let’s be clear about those Perfumed puffballs you believe are filling your air space while you sleep. Maybe your own ass woke your from your slumber. Ever think of that? And, I’m not taking ownership, but if That pizza with extra cheese we had for dinner last night wasn’t on my plate maybe -just maybe- you wouldn’t have been subjected to those little Stink Clouds.