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I need to get these off my desktop.  They are the most evile of .jpg temptresses.  “Use me for something great,” they seem to say.  Yet in truth, there is only the silent whispers. Whispers of my inability to put them to work in any greater capacity than childish captions.

Oh hey guys, it’s Tracy from college.  This is just me and my boo, chilling on the weekend.  We wake up and drink herbal tea and go to the farmer’s market and then come home and read to each other.  He thinks I’m beautiful naked.

Rhianna, Rhianna, look over here.  Look over here Rhianna.  Now show us your dress.  Who are you wearing?  Here’s a human skull Rhianna.  Look at us.  Now unhinge its jaw and stick you tongue between its teeth.

Mortician’s Underwear.

I know it’s weird but sometimes he doesn’t even want to have sex.  He just likes to cuddle and fall asleep.  He like, really gets my needs.

Babe, c’mon.  Dude, babe I’m sorry babe.  Just- just put the book down, ok?  I know the owl and I have been distant lately, ok, I know that.  Babe.  Seriously.

I didn’t think I could ever get a guy to be into the same stuff as I am. We use a safe word.  It’s “pomeranian.”

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