...so I had sought through a dozen shops till I lit upon a crapelike material of purple-gray — the color, in short, of dun mist, lying on a moor in bloom.
The Exploding Mouse Fart—While trying to hold it in, some gas gets out making a squeak noise, and since relieving yourself a little bit felt so good, you let the rest out in a huge BRAP!
Here in seclusion, as a widow may, / The lovely lady whiled the hours away, […]
“Why shouldn't it be my fault, right? I screwed up my kid. I screwed up my marriage. I screwed up my fucking life. We don't need to beat around the bush.” He smirked, shook his head.
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