"Hi Janet," sez I to a woman who was not Janet, but who bore a striking resemblance. Janet is not attractive. The woman glared at me and did not say "hi" back. I pretended I was talking to my hand, which is actually named Charlston A. Winthrop VII. He's a little uptight, but he's loaded.
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Those Dreams We Dream
I had the best dream last night. There has only ever been one guy who dicked me over. We were friends and he had no right to do it, but he was a Bastard so he did anyway.
I dreamt last night that he came into the living room wearing a kilt. Now normally I love kilts. They make me hot and creamy or however you else you may want to refer to sexually piqued. Perversely, part of the reason I love Jethro is that he will never EVER indulge this fantasy.
But in my dream, Bastard sat down with his legs akimbo and I got a good look. Nothing to write home about. But when I pointed out to him that he was giving us all a free show, he scooted closer to the dude he was sitting next to and started rubbing his leg.
I fucking knew it.