Stan stocked up on his Winston's. Soft packs.
He loved the 7- Elevens at Manila.
Now that he was cashed up, he really should try hitting up the cashiers.
They were all supermodels.
Only the pretty survived in a city like Manila.
The ugly ones got spat out on the streets.
Even the Church didn't want them littering their pews.
Manila was Darwinism in action. Those who had the brightest feathers got more attention.
Mikkee looked fantastic in braces. White skin, blemish free, how the fuck did they manage that in a city that spewed toxins twenty-four hours a day?
'The typhoon is a contributing factor,' said Mikkee, as her luscious boobs heaved under her tight tank top. 'It cleanses the street of scum.'
Yes, it was a shame it didn't flush Frank out to sea. Instead, he washed up on the steps of Vegas Casino, four streets in from Manila Bay.
While hundreds were lost at sea, old Frank rode the wave to the Casino, a magnet for big titted Filipinos wanting to try their luck in the Big Smoke. The bigger the tits, the more chance of survival, yes this is living and breathing Darwinism.
'More like survival of the fucking fittest.'
Was that you Frank?
Some considered him a saint.
Strangers would come up to him and ask him what was the lucky number for today.
He had helped many a punter beat the house with his predictions and for that reason, he was considered among the locals to be an oracle.
The Ozzie Oracle, they called him.
I think Frank might have a purpose.
Maybe he was spared for greater things, to make me a shit load of money.
A shit load of money equates to big Flipper tits.
Life at it's crudest, you may think.
I think Charles was onto something.
He loved the 7- Elevens at Manila.
Now that he was cashed up, he really should try hitting up the cashiers.
They were all supermodels.
Only the pretty survived in a city like Manila.
The ugly ones got spat out on the streets.
Even the Church didn't want them littering their pews.
Manila was Darwinism in action. Those who had the brightest feathers got more attention.
Mikkee looked fantastic in braces. White skin, blemish free, how the fuck did they manage that in a city that spewed toxins twenty-four hours a day?
'The typhoon is a contributing factor,' said Mikkee, as her luscious boobs heaved under her tight tank top. 'It cleanses the street of scum.'
Yes, it was a shame it didn't flush Frank out to sea. Instead, he washed up on the steps of Vegas Casino, four streets in from Manila Bay.
While hundreds were lost at sea, old Frank rode the wave to the Casino, a magnet for big titted Filipinos wanting to try their luck in the Big Smoke. The bigger the tits, the more chance of survival, yes this is living and breathing Darwinism.
'More like survival of the fucking fittest.'
Was that you Frank?
Some considered him a saint.
Strangers would come up to him and ask him what was the lucky number for today.
He had helped many a punter beat the house with his predictions and for that reason, he was considered among the locals to be an oracle.
The Ozzie Oracle, they called him.
I think Frank might have a purpose.
Maybe he was spared for greater things, to make me a shit load of money.
A shit load of money equates to big Flipper tits.
Life at it's crudest, you may think.
I think Charles was onto something.
