"Ha ha ha, no."
Dear blurred lines antics please be off the balcony by the time I am out of the laundry room.
(A car speeds away. Hopefully the driver is off to watch age-appropriate porn in his own basement, by himself.)
Oh Amy. Will you please stop being so insecure around that slender, genetically gifted supermodel therapist. Don't you know you are beautiful on the inside? Don't you know that universe wants you to pay attention to other things? Like whether or not some wolf pimp is running a pup slave ring in the nice forest behind your house, maybe.
How you doin'
Lounging around in a pair of wet jeans that got sent to the dryer last week.
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