If a year had four pliable limbs it'd meet us right here, the start of a new century.
"It was only a matter of time", they'd all say. One month, two months, three.
It may have started in a yellow cave of fresh linen,
but that innocence was all gone with the first sweaty palmed confession.
Friday, January 8, 2010
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Olive Oil said to Popeye. Your breath smells like spinach and your balls are the size of peas. Popeye held her down and put his fist through her head.
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