Max had gone mad. First, he'd taken me - still mounted dangerously on his back, riding him in a non-erotic fashion - into town, where he'd viciously chased a puppy for 14 minutes, until he got bored and bought some sausage rolls. Gripping them too tightly in his newly-muscled hands, he sent sausage, pig anus and gloopy fat squirting up and onto my face. As I rode his back.
Then, having cleaned me up, he set of to the D.I.Y shop and bought a pile of shelves, which he proceeded to hammer viciously onto his wall. Everywhere. Horizontally, vertically, sometimes at strange 37-degree angles, he pinned shelving all across his flat. This paragraph, I fear, I cannot end erotically. Well, so what?
STOP JUDGING ME!
Sorry... Got a bit carried away...
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