You really want me to know about the antichrist’s dick. A third message pings. Is all of this info firsthand? Did you fuck the antichrist? When did you fuck the antichrist? I switch to defense. You would know, you were there, I type like each tap of my fingers is going directly for his pretty gray eyes. He goes low, I go lower. Three taunting dots bounce in the bottom-left corner for a breath, then his reply pops up: Glad you think my dick is huge
