| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
....Did that hurt you...?
But damn, this pimp walk was startin’ t’ make Zikar’s quads cramp up.
It was a star-studded, sunshiny, butta-dipped day for the dappled stud, makin’ his way ‘cross all sorts of lands and whatnot, getting’ his swag on and mackin’ all sorts of cool-ass vibes. He was simply titillated with himself; how awesome was his massive pecs, his gorgeous gluts, his luxorious mane of lion-dreads (the stud fancied himself a lion; how ‘bout that? Roarin’ all over the place ‘n shit). It was such a great feeling deep in the O.G’s chest, so full and complete, that Zikar had decided to renounce his nerdy-ass title of “Disciple” and don a newer, shinier, flier moniker: “Big Poppa”. Zikar the Big Poppa of the Aurora Basin. Oh yeah. That slid off the tongue nicely.
It was meant to be; there was no way a straight-up G like Zikar was gonna be satisfied with being some weak-ass wannabe scrub. This ninja was goin’ places, straight t’ the top! And what better way to show off his new style than to go to the Threshold, and show off his fly ass for all them big-booty bitches that swarmed the place like flies on a dead hog? He was sure to get some sort of recognition; the stallion nearly salivated with the thought of them decadent lil’ girlies, strollin’ along, completely oblivious to Zikar’s charm until BAM—they were snared, and his.
The longer Zikar walked, however, the more unsure the slick mofo was of his surroundings. He didn’t much think about where his steps was takin’ him; he assumed he was headed West toward the Threshold like he should have. Or was it East? Or was he even going East in the first place? The fresh ninja shrugged his shoulders; he decided it didn’t matter overly. There were big-booty bitches all the world over. Besides, the change of scenery was pleasant anyway; the grasses gave into white, sandy beaches, and before long the deep blue of the ocean was visible. Damn, that’s a lot of water! Zikar stopped in his tracks, a sloppy snort communicating his surprise; he spent the better part of a few moments simply gazing at the huge watery monolith. And then he was bored with it; he couldn’t stop thinking about them crazy dane’s he was undoubtedly gonna meet. Hot damn he had a hankerin’.
Lucky for the Epitome of Freshness, he was in luck; turning his dull gaze over a few times, Zikar saw a pale blossom not too far from where he was himself, a tasty morsal of a mare with eyes like berries or whatever the hell was red and blue. Zikar didn’t give a damn for fantastic similes; he was straight up transfixed with dat ass she had on her. DAMN but these beach bitches looked good; he was almost glad he had no idea where the hell he was going. He supposed them Foresty types of spinsters weren’t worth his time next to the visage of this white piece of ass. Zikar gave his head shake, trying to knock the stars out of his eyes. He needed all his brilliance on board if he was gonna charm the ladies; it was bad manners to call a bitch a “white piece of ass”.
Better to call her, “gorgeous piece ofbooty”. There; that was proper ‘n shit.
“’Ey lil’ mama,” Zikar said, boldy stepping forward, cocking his head a little in greeting, “Whatchu doin’ out here in the big ‘ol ocean by y’self? Where yo man at, girl?” He spoke with what he thought was a smooth-ass baritone; girlies liked a grown man with a deep voice or whatever the hell. Something like that. That bitch was fine, tho’.
...I DON' GIVE A DAMN...
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