 Important note, this short story was co-authored by the Botanic Predictive Keyboard app. Every tale posted on the SCP Wiki from its inception through 2018 was fed into the algorithm, along with the works of erotic gay fantasy author Chuck Tingle. These are the results. I felt every muscle in my bedroom place has transcended reality, as my favorite lab of thomatologists tuck their fat germs into the darkness of my death-tailored man chamber. Come on, Chuckle's the attractive foundation figure standing naked under himself. Just give us that heavenly whistling. I never end until everyone else rapidly arranges their own shame gatherings to talk about my sweet length of pleasure wait. I shout back. Eventually we realize that we should be doing something about that incident with the uncountable containment breaches. So we didn't. Fifteen days later, the others were struggling to keep up with their rapid activities, and I couldn't say I was getting too comfortable. What with all the imposing foundation agents already hanging encouraging letters from the containment room ceiling. I just stood up and flipped through the door, hissing sounds of blackened laughter. I don't like forever scrambling up the staircase of pleasure. I need my butt hole open wide as the world, but not one person has breached containment of my heart. Suddenly, a deep voice crackled out across the landscape. I'll fucking tell you what, the voice yelled. Clearly finding a beautiful pink wand is not going to be a fucking basket of awesome. You have to get over your fear of pain and grab your issues together in a fucked up dildo of proper workplace etiquette. But what value does decades of research have if my balls throb with deafening rage? I apologize. Throw out your completely stupid lizard fiction and it will work out my gay twink human twink. Someone who I've tasted countless miles of will help feed the butt in your heart. Light wrinkled over the cloud edge, a perfect relief after all this murdered communion we had. There was movement toward the facility vans, a flash of white panty parameters, a moment of erotic gay giddiness ejects from my eyes. This molok, the butt pounding noise keeper of oldest magic, before my fairy tips. Morning, brother lord. He said soothingly, we've got some shit to do. Finally, soon we were adhering to each other like a snowball on a tombstone. He unfurls his muscular ears as he savors the one orange I must have found. Only molok time here. That's not the only thing I've destroyed. Me murmurs, pointing at someone with enough brains to get laid. Fuck security. Put your enormous massive dick cock into overdrive and start filling that science shark with some smooth smile food. A shark agenda, I blurt. You already discovered my life will be nothing but red gay lifestyle with this. And that was how friendship blossomed, right upon this handsome world of trouble. When the foundation eventually stops us, Dr. Barclay is going to punch my bones off.