There once was a suit too dope.

It was tailored in the heart of Venice, Italy by the legendary,then 120 year-old, tailor Mario Berlusconi who, upon completing the suit, fell dead in shock from witnessing the suit’s presence.

There once was a man who desired this suit.

He offered the tailor a king’s ransom to make the suit, fully aware that the tailor’s heart could not handle the shock of being in front of such perfection.

But, the suit was his.

He waited until the perfect night to dawn the suit, with the perfect gorgeous woman to impress. And on that night, he picked the perfect tie, the perfect shoes, the perfect shirt and the perfect watch to go with the perfect suit. And he knotted every tie, buckled every cuff link and tied every shoe. And he was finished; he was suited up.

And that’s when he came.

He came so hard, he had to sit down. He had to take the suit off. And instead of going that night, he went to bed. Upon awaking, he was perplexed. He tried to put on the suit, but he came again and had to take it off. And the next day, he tried again. He came again.

But as despaired he was from unable to properly control himself in the suit, the perfection of the fabrics, the glory of the lapels, and the fascination of the cut would not let him break free of the desire to rock the suit. The suit that was too dope.

And from then on, he started his day by trying put the suit on. And from then on, he started his day by cumming into the suit. It started to become routine; something to help him get up in the morning and get ready for work. And then a year passed, and suit had become rock hard, the fabrics ruined, and the cut completely stiff and completely unwearable.

Alas, the suit was ruined.