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*nods hello* *NM* Aemon Send a noteboard - 08/01/2010 05:07:44 AM
... are like a finely aged pile of shit. A dry fissured exterior hiding a still moist, still warm center of bronze ambrosia of the perfect consistency. I promised myself I would not come back. Yet like the prodigal son, I have returned. Unable to resist the temptation to poke you with a stick or to crush you beneath my feet. To feel you explode between my toes with all your pungent glory.





Jing Lives.
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