Mazarati Rena & Superbowl

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renap0004I just watched the first Superbowl commercial and it was about a black boy and a Mazarati. I offer my Muse the Rosamond Brand, and she calls the cops on me because she couldn’t wait to prove to me and my readers how loyal she is to her Red-neck. That was a $20,000,000 dollar commercial. What do these guys got? Is this how they are going to save the white race – by being stupid?

It looks like they love the racist destiny the NPI has mapped out for them that is going nowhere, but to the same hell all those beautiful German boys went to when they fell in love with Adolph Hitler.

In this prophetic post, I accept the truth Rena does not want to live with this poor hippie on a hill – for fifteen years. But, if I was a Red-neck, and stupid as a box of hammers, then this Super Woman will kill for you, throw folks in jail for you, invade Russia for you.

“besides, she had already parked herself in a little tent atop a mount overlooking the town of Monte Rio – for forty five fucking days with a hippie who was not going anywhere in life, because wanting to be someone, is not cool.”

I was watching a car commercial and saw a Rena look-alike in it. ‘The Italians are coming’ is out of this post I made over two years ago.

Maserati Sunset

Rena and I sat on our hillside watching the western sky turn into a rainbow, and then beheld the first stars appear in the thalo blue richness of the sky. This was to be our last night on our mountain before we descend to the land of mortals below.

I sat above her, and thus she used my legs and knees like a thrown, a leather bucket seat, her beautiful arms resting on me as I caressed her shoulders. A warm wind came up through the pines and oaks, and the strong smell of dry golden
grass was like a perfume that still lingers. This aroma is my solace, at knowing what she had in store, for herself, just herself.

This beautiful Midwest girl was born in the body of Ferrari, a Mazarati, in a little town in Nebraska, and for seventeen years she lived like a old crone in the home of her dear Grandmother. My God, she was in a walker at seven!

“Oh, Rena, do be careful! Watch out for those garden pebbles, They can trip you up! Now, let’s go watch the backward sprinkler till it gets dark.”

Before I came into her life, her plan was to take that beautiful Mazrati body to college – and conquer Lincoln – for starters!

Look out Lincoln, here come Rena Ferrari Maserati, Italian film goddess! Look for her to burn some rubber down your street on her way to the campus where there are a hundred good looking men in great bodies, they out of their mother’s
home, too, and there is no one to stop them, all that healthy stuff, the years they played on the swings and jungle gyms, coming down to this – College Mating Time!

If I was born in her body, there would be no way you could talk me into parking my Mazarati in that old barn in back of the Monastery, then go into the field and besides, she had already parked herself in a little tent atop a mount overlooking the town of Monte Rio – for forty five fucking days with a hippie who was not going anywhere in life, because wanting to be someone, is not cool.pick potatoes and radishes for the communal stew. No way! I mean, my God,
you’re a godly sex machine, the sexist car alive, and………

O.K. This is/was true! But Rena didn’t have to be anybody either, because she was so fucking beautiful. It just – grew on her!

Rena wanted to have a few more lovers, that will fine tune her cylinders, her moves, her love making technique, before she takes it out on the autobahn – and really opens up!
I was already in her dust, and, was trying to be fair, make it easier on both of us, by telling her;

“I would do the same thing, if I were you!”

“You would! “Oh thank you! Thank you for releasing me, and approving of everything I want to do!”

I love Rena like my own daughter. She never knew her father.

Of course I made this conversation up, because, when I pointed out the planet Pluto to her, I slapped an invisible ball and chain on her ankle while she was distracted.

“Where’s Pluto?”

“See that tiny little star at the very tip of that pine tree!

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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1 Response to Mazarati Rena & Superbowl

  1. Reblogged this on Rosamond Press and commented:

    I am mre than the President of the Bohemian Club! https://rosamondpress.com/2015/05/02/capturing-the-lone-monterey-cypress/

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