i did NOT say you write trite poetry. (argh, i see i'm ne'er to live this one down.) oh but your words make my soul writhe and itch and cough and weep like a pail of chopped white onion.
i have a thing for postcards. 'tis why i clicked on this post. am vicariously enjoying the diversion of the ensuing convo above, (even without being tied up in silk scarves ;).
GEL: no scarves involved. i use my (incisively perspicacious) tongue and the five fingers (of my senses) to vanquish our daft bastard bert moth till he cries in his soup...and his stew, for that matter...and his contact lens solution...and the vials of child blood he keeps in the glove compartment. aaaaaaaah!, alas {sigh}, i haven't the time to do so in all the ways i've been enjoined and enabled by god. wanna pitch in? join my side? guaranteed W. and it's superfuntothemax!
IAC, (I've been otherwise engaged playing real nurse w/out the scarves and short see-through skirt)
Ah, you're a feisty one. I know Bert likes 'em that way, but shhh, don't tell my husband. Actually, you may want to tell him! Could help his recovery! ;) Poor man, endured an appendectomy and ensuing complications recently and it wasn't due to my "inventive contortions" across his (Bleep), at all...
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"prepotency" is the dictionary.com word of the day. it made me think of you. because it made me think of me and how i dominate you.
you only dominate me when i get tired of beating you. i get bored, see? then i write trite poetry.
i did NOT say you write trite poetry. (argh, i see i'm ne'er to live this one down.) oh but your words make my soul writhe and itch and cough and weep like a pail of chopped white onion.
hahaha. i tease (in domination). thank you, dear, dear, dear girl. but i eagerly await your offerings of bread, fish and aliveness on your blarg.
i have a thing for postcards. 'tis why i clicked on this post.
am vicariously enjoying the diversion of the ensuing convo above, (even without being tied up in silk scarves ;).
above convo? oh, yes. there's some tartness being emitted from the universe.
there is something romantic about postcards, isn't there?
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GEL: no scarves involved. i use my (incisively perspicacious) tongue and the five fingers (of my senses) to vanquish our daft bastard bert moth till he cries in his soup...and his stew, for that matter...and his contact lens solution...and the vials of child blood he keeps in the glove compartment. aaaaaaaah!, alas {sigh}, i haven't the time to do so in all the ways i've been enjoined and enabled by god. wanna pitch in? join my side? guaranteed W. and it's superfuntothemax!
hahahahahahaha.
whoa! wait. what?
vials of child blood!!!!!?!!!!!?!!!!?!????!??????!?
*falling out of my chair*
*eyeballs popping out of my head and rolling on the floor*
*squealing in horror*
IAC,
(I've been otherwise engaged playing real nurse w/out the scarves and short see-through skirt)
Ah, you're a feisty one. I know Bert likes 'em that way, but shhh, don't tell my husband.
Actually, you may want to tell him! Could help his recovery! ;) Poor man, endured an appendectomy and ensuing complications recently and it wasn't due to my "inventive contortions" across his (Bleep), at all...
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