Hello Dolly.

How about you ask your hillbilly daddy to pull out of you for a minute and let a real man have a go?

You know, you lizards are all the same. Dirty little runaways trying to sell what your fathers took for free, just to prove you still own it.

Sorry to break your heart, little sweetheart, but that pretty flower of yours is polluted. Every dark-skinned cock you earn 30 dollars from is a dagger in your mother's heart, you know that don't you, pumpkin?

Let me explain why you'll never be nothin' but another illiterate letdown, sugar. It's in your bloodline. You mountain folk ain't done nothin' for the country other than produce a bunch of bullet catchers to send over as human sacrifices for the dune coons in Iraq and Afghanistan. You're whole family history is derived from finding ways to run moonshine across borders. You invented NASCAR by running from the cops. Jesus Christ, that right there ought to condemn you to Hell. Ain't nothing good happened in NASCAR since Dale Sr. left a stain on turn two.

You followin', sweetheart?

Good. Listen, you worthless twat in a training bra and momma's high heels... you ain't nothin' more than a spit bucket for this roster between two thick legs, and no amount of cheap hair dye is gonna get the stink of the last fifty dicks off of your breath, you hear? You can wash the grass stains off your knees, but not off your soul, honey.

Best thing you can do is lay down like always and let this big boy take what he wants from you.

Cry about it if you want to.

I like it when little whores cry.


Ruckus climbs on top of Dolly and places his palm over her mouth to keep her quiet while he rubs himself against her.




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