Lock Up Your Children, For Jerry Don Gleaton Has A Van
Run away, children! Run to the bosom of your birth-mum! Jerry Don sees you. Jerry Don smells you. And Jerry Don has brought candy. He may have a pack of Sugar Babies, some Fun Dip, or even Pop Rocks hidden 'neath Poseidon's headdress.
"He looks like a fine young fellow," Some of the mothers pushing strollers might say. Ignorant slags! He's not peering into some far off horizon reliving the skirt steak he devoured for lunch. He's looking for escape routes: escape routes that he will vanish on after nabbing your child with his homemade frog gigger and burlap sack.
When he's not playing baseball, Jerry Don Penis Erectus Gleaton loves to toil in his shed. His tools calm him from a long day of suffering fools in the fool's paradise around him. His hands calloused from an ironmongerer's daily grind: he melts hot hot lead like he melts hot hot hearts and succeeds in both because of his hot hot sex.
Someone should really call the authorities. But would they care? One look at the strapping broad shouldered, immaculately groomed face, and criminally tight glutes of Jerry Van Dyke Don Corleone Gleaton would cause even the most cynical man to revert to optimistic sunshine. How can you not look at him -- shouting to Almighty God Almighty, "Thank you, Lord of all things and Jerry Don Gleaton! I have found the definition of perfect!"-- and not find the closest shoulder in which to dry your eyes?
But do not be fooled! He may write beautiful sonnets; he may be able to pat his head and rub his belly simultaneously. But these are mere parlor tricks from a man who has given himself over to evil.
Jerry He Was Such A Quiet Boy Don Gleaton has moved into your zip code -- with his van --