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Last night's silent film, and today's ironic thud. He flicks her off, he wears her off; pounds fall stern on her back, pound and pounds of amiss and mud. Bawl and snibel and sob and sob and red eyes and sob. And sob. His manly units don't work anymore, they're just there. No accolade whatsoever, no laurels, no values, no ethic, no genitalia, whatsoever.
He has no genitalia, whatsoever.
6:12 AM
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