Explaining My Lore For Fiona The Busty Target Cashier

Throughout my unquestionably mediocre existence within this spherical land of torture we inhabit, I've done my share of fucking. Is that true? Why of course not you silly goose, you're reading a blog written by an emaciated 5'10 130 pound white boy whom looks as if he was just released from a Nazi internment camp-- girls are repulsed from the mere sight of my gangly arms and fierce, peircing collarbone. But despite my critically low testosterone, I am a man after all, I do have a stark fascination for pussy-- and don't you dare say I don't. When my friends make comments regarding my lack of sex I pay it no mind as I consider allies in war from Clash of Clans my true confidants, however it's the lack of nuance in their comments which really get my goat. Am I a sterile, mouse of a man, inexperienced in the art of pleasuring a lassy? Some would say yes but I consider my accidental abstaination from any type of sexual act as a source of power, it takes a real man to be tumultuously terrified of the opposite gender. 

I would be lying however if I came to you with a statement of "I don't even want a girlfriend" or being "uninterested in sex", because there's certainly a female who's been the apple of my eye for a prolonged period. For the past 2 and 1/2 years I've driven a roundtrip of 45 minutes to a Target 3 towns over, just to catch a glimpse of the fever inducing Fiona. Once a week I'll head to her register, typically on a Tuesday as that's the date of our future wedding, and make small talk like "how about that TurboTax commercial!" or make a flattering comment about her tantalizing breasts. I typically drop my $5 tray of shrimp alongside a pack of EXPO Dry Erase Markers, (multi-colored of course, I love the LBGTQ+ community) and then pull out my hulking, throbbing Calvin Klein wallet I won during a minor league baseball raffle, to demonstrate my upper-middle class stature to Fiona. Nothing gets a girl wetter than a $34.99 wallet chalk full of fives. 

Fiona loves chokers, she wears them around all bodily appendages-- her neck of course, her wrists, her ankles...it's so fucking sexy. However she only wears one upon her fingers, which while confusing seems rather fiscally responsible-- those metal accessories can't be cheap and on the budget of a super-mart employee? That further adds to my love for Fiona, nothing gets me quite as rock hard as a fiscally responsible women-- makes me go fucking crazy. As I was explaining before my primal, alpha brain took over, after dropping my 24-piece shrimp platter and markers my noggin begins whirring like a peanut was drooped within a circus elephant's cage. My noggin is churning to gravel as I search for a witty, off hand comment in which will one day win Fiona's heart via laughter. Often times, I freeze to only end up offering her my spare Blue Raspberry Blow Pop kept within my Nike Dry Elite long socks, which is without fail always declined-- she's just being a good old southern belle, not wanting to take my favorite treat. The day she gives in and accepts said offering though I will promptly get down on one knee and ask for her hand in marriage and we'll live happily ever after.

Fiona is playing hard to get and I know she just wants me to continue the chase, she loves a man with passion. She needs a man willing to splurge on a  night out at Outback Steakhouse, every woman worth her penny deserves a crisp Bloomin' Onion. Fiona will be treated like royalty and never without her favorite Sugar-Free Red Bull, she deserves a king and I will be that for her, even in spite of her Charlie Sheen full face tattoo plastered upon her throat. 

Our children will be named after each member of Dude Perfect, Coby, Cody, Corey and Tyler. We will live in Witchita Falls, Texas and every night we will partake in Jeopardy, The Bachelor, Cash Cab, Blue Bloods and NCIS. Until that day though I'll waitfully sit, allowing her the proper time needed to prepare herself for a lifetime of feet massages and to remember my name.