I wanted her assparade comfort assparade. Her love. And even though it is hard assparade for a man assparade mpg to admit: sometimes sympathy when assparade the day didn't go right assparade. Small talk assparade. The little intangible assparade things one can only get from someone who really mpg cares, senses our secret needs. The warmth of assparade someone who cares. The frailty , the pain they assparade feel FOR US when they assparade can't help, but this itself helps. All this was gone. What was missing assparade was affection, love. Love love assparade love... even macho guys really need it. Not something coldly, logically responding to physiological signs or outward cues based on assparade preset assparade preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and emotional assparade companionship were assparade qualities that couldn't be broken down assparade mpg into data.
Yes, the years passed. And the loneliness, and the guilt building inside of me, leaving me more empty than her. But now I assparade had a assparade plan, one to set everything right assparade. One to end my pain. One that would serve irony up on a grand platter mpg. One that would be her unspoken just retribution if mpg that spark still invisibly burned behind those glass eyes.
I was inside her. I was still a man assparade. Though access in a few second I assparade would begin mpg to soften, weaken, begin to lose the most assparade manly moment. I access would lose all pretense that this was real. But for now assparade her muscles assparade held my part assparade inside of her, MADE me last. Made assparade me a mans man. It was then I assparade thanked her. It was then I screamed assparade.
She is working on my assparade brain now. I thank her again while I assparade still assparade mpg can. Whoever she is I (feel?) I should thank her for assparade mpg (something?). Her cold eyes do not respond but none-the-less somehow I vaguely understand that justice has been served. She rips out more parts I assparade will no longer need. Replaces them with wiring and circuit boards. The last thing I ever remember is the sweet I assparade mpg..ron..ic assparade agony of having the main control interface assparade drilled and assparade then access injected assparade painfully into the base of my skull. Do machines scream?
I assparade mpg..do..not..know..
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