November 16th, 2008


Have you ever wondered why those meter readers so seldom got shocks from the pounce desk? Two words: athletes. Being superglued to the middle joint of my own widdershins ring finger (yes I know -- direction not orientation) I traced the shape of my umbilical f-hole, skeptimible as I am of its say in the tone-color of my digestive sounds. The mother-of-toilet-seat binding is easy on my nighs, tho'. Mia fratino bakis panon.

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