Magic Pussycat Syndrome

It’s true. I have Magic Pussycat Syndrome. So kidding, I’m not that arrogant. Or am I? But I will be the first to quandary that if my mystery pocket is no more special than the next girl’s… Then, I also have to ponder, does any other heffa strike out with one wackadoodle after the other? Wackadoodle-doo said the wackadoodle chicken. Bok. Bok. I can’t be the only chick that has a history of attracting guys with their ticky boom boom, not quite, in tact…. Why else would I find one crazy loon after another? Three cheers for dumb luck! Mother fuckers driving by my house and drinky drunk dialing me. Finding potentially great guys who want to marry me; But their noggin isn’t computing at my pace. This is why I’m constantly keeping my hot box locked up for no one to visit without first opting in for the background check. Let’s keep it real guys. Once us girls release the sensual crackin, you mofos just get to hypnotized and won’t fade into the background gracefully, when things have run its course. Abracadabra, when I snap my twat, you will be entranced to act upon my every wish, Biotches.¬†

So, girls, if your panty puzzle has got you dragging strays home on the back of your bumper… And this ¬†confuzzlent has eluded you from a love story with a Prince Charming draped in skinny jeans, you’re not alone. Your magical kitty just has side effects….

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