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She Waited for the other Shoe to Drop
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I bit her ear and /
it was burnt toast
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As black as his socks with a hole in them she used to sew while watching. The octopus has three hearts you know. Yes, No and Maybe.
As black as inkpots, inkjets, as black as typewriter ribbons and the Gutenberg press, as black as the ink of a trillion
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“There’s no real freedom in this world. But a car and the open road is close enough for government work.”
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* Dedicated to Bernie MaddoffThere was a long line at the men's room.You know,when men reach a certain age,there is an urgencyto their frequent trips.So I saw an opportunityI said:" I know Bernie I can get you in.""Really?," they saidbut I played it coy"It ain't easyBernie…
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The door shuts slowly to something that’s allegedly mine
and it sits there and waits until I come home
just like you.
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This must never get out in the press, for it would cause widespread panic. The priests would surround my house, not to mention the police and possibly the army. Castor Desayuno has come back from the dead!
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We are all in big trouble. Here's some fiction to let your soul experience the beast.
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Marge bought the rug on-line.
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@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; } …
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Fat robins are chirping –
loudly – at 4 a.m.
They’re trying to delude
the worms into thinking it’s
dawn already
The worms get up underground
They’re grumpy, they
bump into things
They come up to the surface
and Wham! That
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We slept beside dripping glaciers
people like us
We were never meant to be housed
contained, kept, petted, cleaned
We could only be gutted
You used us one time
and threw us out
people like us
We sprouted the wings of desire
by watchi
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—It’s difficult to say, he said. I have mood swings. Women don’t like that. They become upset.
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I hold them to the light...
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She dips a toothpick in ink, running prick over paper, simply to prove herself wrong.
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Warning: Open and read before making any dumb-ass New Year's resolutions.
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Shakespeare had red hair / Van Gogh never painted a nude
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Why yes I began writing this, my bildungsroman, Who is Mitsy Jackson, in spring, 1974 or thereabouts, and thank you so much for asking.
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Mrs. L. was sitting on a love seat in her nightgown. She was sitting in a man’s lap....
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Content may contain ordinary, everyday, and all around average happenings.
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A woman is fishing in the Seine at the far left
of the painting, while time is suspended and light
remains. One man plays a trumpet. A half dozen
people sit or walk under parasols. Couples stroll
and children run or sit or stand beside their
p
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"Dennis," she started "exactly what the fuck are you looking at?"
"Your tits" I replied.
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And now, the weather. The Cloud Wranglers have roped three solid clouds this morning, preventing the clouds from raining iron bars onto Human Brain Storage Center #17.
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William Shakespeare (a surname that meant "wanker" back in the day, by the way)
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—Frank, how is your sex life?
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But I don't see the cabinets, or know how to put the 4 chapters he's talking about today into the drawers that are invisible, floating, above his bed he's been in for a year, me sitting next to him, becoming a spinster.
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