>>14500312Your mom is at the stove, cooking not unlike every other woman in the region. Hawlucha ruffles his feathers, jumps off your head, and runs over to her. He tugs at her pants to get her attention, eagerly pointing at you.
"Ahh, Calem honey, you're awake! Good morning!~"
You run a hand through your hair, only to realize that it's stuck in a tangled hair-boner mess that seems like too much of an ordeal to tame.
"G'mornin...I don't think I got much sleep last night..." you yawn, and attempt to head to the table, but your mom stops you on the way there.
"Uh uh uh! Go change into your clothes before eating, comb your hair, brush your teeth, use mouth wash, and also change boxers, you know how stanky the French are!"
"Aaauuuuggh..." droning a sigh, you trudge back upstairs.
You're teetering on the fence regarding whether or not she's a mother who worries about her child's appearance, or just a blatant racist.
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About ten minutes or so later, you look at yourself in your room's mirror.
"I. Look like such a fucking faggot."
Red cap to hide your inner-Arin. Glasses perched on it.
Blue jacket.
Jeans.
A messenger bag.
Boots.
There is no clearer recipe for taking it in the ass.
And you could not give any less of a shit. You're pretty damn stylish and your hips don't lie. You place your hands on them, shake them, and even wiggle dat ass of yours. Your jeans are really skinny, and it's quite obvious.
You head back downstairs to start on that Raisin Bran.
>Your mom mentions...A) The neighbor kids.
B) The professor.
C) Your Rhyhorn.
D) Her declining libido.
