by Mark Peters
has been writing behind our backs, it would seem, in between his romps with rent
boys, wild orgy's and confusing nuns at every turn.
So, he says to me he has this fantasy, to which I replied that if it was the one with the Marshmallow Fluff, the bananas and the backseat of his Honda, that I had heard it already.
He said, no no no, not that fantasy and handed me this. Read on!
|Chapter One||Chapter Two|
|Chapter Three||Chapter Four|
|Chapter Five||Chapter Six|
|Chapter Seven||Chapter Eight|