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reader, writer, unregenerate comma-splicer |
Last night in my dream I was watching cautionary presentations by female convicts who had been raped by prison guards. I woke up in my own bed, unmolested. What a strange accident that I am not a woman being raped by a prison guard. Who died to make me king?
Was it Elvis?
Was it Cole?
Was it Aslan?
10 Responses to “For we are the king of the boudoir, we are, and the king doesn’t like to wait.”