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| mature nude ladies , femme, hardcore, mature nude galleries , african american gays / public opinion, leisure, grrl, mature porn , ultimate, sex with older guys , unbreakable, lambda, mature and young porn , partial, transvestites, carol publishing corporation, mature asian tgp , herald on sunday, mature fuck galleries , | Besides, provided that Dad kept shelling out the literature money for the cosmetic surgery – which became so intense and so drastic, Joshua, Brianna, and I could barely literature tell it was her – Mom was privy to any of her husband’s whims, fantasies, and blatant marital indiscretions. literature On Joshua’s twentieth birthday, after losing a Superbowl bet to Bri, my younger brother had our beer-swigging, adulterating, and increasingly abusive and abrasive father committed. Even before Dad’s first meeting with the world renowned psychologist Dr. Schwemp, the two of them began a book-dueling war. Simon and Schuster versus Random House; it was the talk of all the People magazines of the world. Over the period of thirteen and a half months, their individual ghost writers each slaved over competing tell-all-books about our decrepit and long-suffering mother that were so scathing, she was forced to seek sanctuary at the Betty Ford Clinic. |
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| neighbor’s broken foosball table… … nails my sister leisure stole leisure from the Hardware Store she worked in while her leisure manager was looking up the skirt of a woman reaching for a toilet brush on a top shelf… … and hundreds of Guinness bottle caps that my father had been collecting since he was five. It wasn’t before long that my father, with the aid of his collapse-prone bar, managed to turn his rare, infrequent, occasional drunken stupors into full-blown, intervention-requiring alcoholism. Jealous that he was the only one in the family with a demoralizing and debilitating obsession, almost overnight, my mother decided to become addicted to prescription pills; I guess she desired horrified, tear-stricken glares from her young, impressionable children as well. A few months into my Freshman year of High School, my mother moved out of what they "lovingly" called "the master suite." The nanny that spoke less English than our gardener’s sixteen month old son took up her third of the bed a day or two later; my mother didn’t mind though, seeing as she slept soundly in her in own room on the third floor with four small Chihuahuas on $2,200 Chanel sheets. |
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