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A help, please.
15 years ago
I am writing to discover the solution to a little problem I am having. I can not, for the life of me, ascertain the correct process of making a woman shut up and get on my horse. I have accomplished making a woman shut up and also been successful at having women get on my horse. One woman got on my horse and got off my horse all in the same day.
A horse, also known as Equus ferus caballus, is ostensibly a hooved animal which is a sub-species of literally 1 of 7 specieseseses from the family Equidae. This aforementioned horse has graciously evolved over about the past fucking billion million years for the single purpose of allowing me to request that a woman climb upon it after being thoroughly hushed.
His name is Crumpy, and he is pleased to meet you.
This specimen derives from a small multi-toed creature into the fat caballo ass single-toed animal of today, which is an absolute fallacy because horses don't have toes. Folks of questionable intelligence who tremendously adored horses started domesticating the species around approximately 4000 BCE, whatever a BCE is, and their domestication is thought to have been ridiculously widespread by 3000 BCE, again whatever the fuck a BCE is; by 2000 BCE (what the fuck?! get on my horse) the use of domesticated horses had spread through the Eurasia (no I'm not!) continent and many stupid ass people celebrated.
Women started to board my horse and more. Everywhere.
Though most horses today are domesticated (so you can get on my horse), there are some endangered ass populations of the stupidly named Przewalski's Horse, the only remaining true wild ass, which is a woman, as well as some more common mean fucking feral horses which live wild but are impossible to embark. A woman can not scale my feral horse, nor would any woman be capable of suppressing verbal communication when near a feral horse, due mostly to tendencies toward savagery and their terrifyingly large sabretooth filled jaws.
It is a common belief that feral horses are often ridden by junior officers of the National Socialist Party. This, of course, acclimating them to the rigours of mounting an antiquated lizardbird killing machine.
In the end, I have need of aid. You may contact me between 1700 and 2200 as this is my dedicated poop time, all other hours being reserved for research into my truly recondite conundrum. I must discover the secret sauce, the key ingredient, the final puzzle piece, the gear that fits, all before the woman wanders off again.
A horse, also known as Equus ferus caballus, is ostensibly a hooved animal which is a sub-species of literally 1 of 7 specieseseses from the family Equidae. This aforementioned horse has graciously evolved over about the past fucking billion million years for the single purpose of allowing me to request that a woman climb upon it after being thoroughly hushed.
His name is Crumpy, and he is pleased to meet you.
This specimen derives from a small multi-toed creature into the fat caballo ass single-toed animal of today, which is an absolute fallacy because horses don't have toes. Folks of questionable intelligence who tremendously adored horses started domesticating the species around approximately 4000 BCE, whatever a BCE is, and their domestication is thought to have been ridiculously widespread by 3000 BCE, again whatever the fuck a BCE is; by 2000 BCE (what the fuck?! get on my horse) the use of domesticated horses had spread through the Eurasia (no I'm not!) continent and many stupid ass people celebrated.
Women started to board my horse and more. Everywhere.
Though most horses today are domesticated (so you can get on my horse), there are some endangered ass populations of the stupidly named Przewalski's Horse, the only remaining true wild ass, which is a woman, as well as some more common mean fucking feral horses which live wild but are impossible to embark. A woman can not scale my feral horse, nor would any woman be capable of suppressing verbal communication when near a feral horse, due mostly to tendencies toward savagery and their terrifyingly large sabretooth filled jaws.
It is a common belief that feral horses are often ridden by junior officers of the National Socialist Party. This, of course, acclimating them to the rigours of mounting an antiquated lizardbird killing machine.
In the end, I have need of aid. You may contact me between 1700 and 2200 as this is my dedicated poop time, all other hours being reserved for research into my truly recondite conundrum. I must discover the secret sauce, the key ingredient, the final puzzle piece, the gear that fits, all before the woman wanders off again.
And having large cash deposits in its bank account.
:D Goodness that was easy
The whole cash thing? Yea....