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drunk coeds, videos, chicago outdoor activities, creampie, black tits, fat, prime, daughter incest, men, truths, banana grabber, emotional support, food, teacher's guides, hilda, sex relations, myths, orange county, | There is no such thing as a pink elephant.” But when I closed my eyes I saw pms packs of them dancing around the white hospital room. It’s not pink elephants I see as Raj turns down my block. He sees it, too. In the driveway, my mother, my father, and my sister Sophie huddle together, pms their faces stern and sorrowful. That little bitch Sophie must have been listening to Raj and me on the telephone and told them everything. I’d like to boot her off pms a Park Avenue terrace. That was how the singer she was named for bought it after being canned from a Sondheim musical - all the alcohol had ruined her award-winning soprano. But that’s not important right now. |
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I made up a song about Doctor Luden. The words food went like this: Dr. Luden wears green hospital pants/But he ain’t wearing any underpants. Before long, I was sipping grape juice from a paper cup as I food stepped into my jeans. The worst part is I can’t have sex for a few weeks and I love having sex with Raj, especially those final moments before he loses it and he can’t stop shouting, “I’m riding you, baby, I’m riding you!” It’s a total rush, like I’m controlling his words through his dick. But I cannot, I will food not, think about his dick. Not for a few weeks, but whenever you try and not think about something it’s always worse. When Grandma was nearing the end, the edge of the edge, when she was nothing but plastic tubes and red dots on the respirator, my grandfather used to tell me not to think about the pink elephant. Every time I said, “Pink elephant? |
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