inyati13
Well-known member
This is the message I had to leave a couple of lovely women that I was planning on running away with:
Joan, I know this news will break your heart but I will not be able to run off with you and Jean. It would have been the wonder of my life to run off with two willowy redheads of such beauty. I can only dream of spending romantic nights on the beach and travel the world in the company of you and Jean. A man could not do better. Your husbands have dodged a bullet as Don Ron must say NO. My cows need me. My dog needs me. Who would scratch Star's pretty big butt? Who would scratch and rub Panda Bear's big noble head? Who would scratch and rub big ole Casper the Bull under the chin? And who would rub Blaze under her big full belly? My cows love me and I love them. If you could see Stocky hold her head in the air and roll her big brown eyes back when I scratch her up on top of the tail, you would understand. I would have night sweats thinking of my pretty cows with their big eye lashes fluttering at me. Remember the poem by Robert Frost, "One could do worse than be a swinger of birches." Well I guess I could do worse than be a lover of cows. I am so sorry I gave you aspirations of knowing the love of one who has refined his romantic skills to such a height with a harem of full figured Bovine girls. But that is the way the bale of hay has busted.
Joan, I know this news will break your heart but I will not be able to run off with you and Jean. It would have been the wonder of my life to run off with two willowy redheads of such beauty. I can only dream of spending romantic nights on the beach and travel the world in the company of you and Jean. A man could not do better. Your husbands have dodged a bullet as Don Ron must say NO. My cows need me. My dog needs me. Who would scratch Star's pretty big butt? Who would scratch and rub Panda Bear's big noble head? Who would scratch and rub big ole Casper the Bull under the chin? And who would rub Blaze under her big full belly? My cows love me and I love them. If you could see Stocky hold her head in the air and roll her big brown eyes back when I scratch her up on top of the tail, you would understand. I would have night sweats thinking of my pretty cows with their big eye lashes fluttering at me. Remember the poem by Robert Frost, "One could do worse than be a swinger of birches." Well I guess I could do worse than be a lover of cows. I am so sorry I gave you aspirations of knowing the love of one who has refined his romantic skills to such a height with a harem of full figured Bovine girls. But that is the way the bale of hay has busted.