My recent pubes shaving really turned my junk into something worth looking at. Which is great. Anything to make my deflated balloon cock look better is always great. (The image of a dead relative flickered in my mind as I wrote that). -- The person decides the personal. -- Look, a mission statement. 'Look, more fucking stupid dialogue bullshit.' -- Holy fuck was today a nothing. Nothing, at all, was gained today except the discovery of an online personality whose blog was once great and now seem kinda shitty. (Maybe they were having an off day too) (and No, no link for you I-Hope-You're-Actually-There-or-Else-My-Life-Seems-Wasted-&-All-That-Money-Spent-on-Cheap-Cheeseburgers-That-Are-Stuff-with-the-Drugs-That-Fuel-Me-Was-for-Naught Audience. No link for you.) -- I have neck problems from the porn I watch. -- Never write about a mother. Never write about a father. Only ever write as a son. Only ever write as a daughter. -- Bor has tattoos on his leg so he never wears shorts, -- Sometimes when I touch myself I feel a prickly fuzz run up my arm -- no matter the weather -- turns out my fingers just got too close to the electrodes. -- which both his colleges and students mock. One day Bor did arrive in shorts, he gave no explanation. But he did have to (repeatedly) explain the ink throughout the day. Which distracted from the questions about the shorts. Something that he appreciated. -- 'This literally seems to have fuck-all t'do with the short story it's supposedly based around.' So? 'Well, I mean-. . . . . ' -- Woooows, and When'd you get those'es and Can I take a pictures (which to this day makes no fucking since) berated Bor for hours. Why didnt you tell us you have tattoos? How could I possible have done that? None of you ever asked or anything, Bor said. (No need to be so snippy, some students said). Bor's tone edged sharper and sharper. Why get tattoos if you arent gonna show 'em off? I didn't get them for other people to see. I didn't get them for y'all. --
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