Compooter has been acting up something fierce lately. Don't know if it swallered a bad virus, or what, but might be time to get in touch with Ian at QuickSilver. With that said, can we flat get rid of the robots and auto rotation calls? If I wanted to listen to a fracking concert, I'd go to Ballet West and watch a performance. If I'm doing business, I want to chat with someone in the outfit I'm calling that hopefully knows more about the subject than me. Artificial Intelligence to a point is okay I guess, but if I'm getting a quote on insurance, for example, I want to speak to a genuine human. Just hopefully the person doesn't have a quarter size wet spot on the crotch of her yoga pants. What pants? Ain't nothing cept a covering of a set of legs and her pelvic region. Ain't no pants to it. The point here is they ought to be wearing some sort of under drawers, so that urine deposits and the like don't show through. Guess if she doesn't care, nither should I, except it's just not professional. Which brings me to another point of that neighborhood. There are more points to cover here to cover and all, but how many times have you my fellow Wolvez, thought, I wonder what that would be like to sniff and/or kiss that phanny? 
And yet at that moment you're not thinking of where that can has been. Nor do you consider that that rump roast, might and mostly will smell or have albeit faint, but still will smell like poop. In reality it does. Not that it would matter much. See-in as if you're into the below panty line snacking, your nose is only millimeters from her anal canal. Yes, your nose will get brown, quick if you're not keeping at least one eye open.
The only part of a human female that does not smell foul, is her pheete. Oh sure, there's the musky aroma of worn leather, and such, but her stockings and her phootsies, will smell nice and pleasant. In short:
Women's Pheete Do Not Stink.
My lunch time, see ya'll after hours.
