January 19, 2005

Non sequitur

"Pariah!" she screamed, tugging at his hair with one hand and scritch scritch scritching at her rump with the other.

"Ja?" he queried, thumping his leg ecstatically in a fast, syncopated rhythm. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Me, I just sat there, hands on my hips, desperate for a Tylenol. It doesn't make me a bad person.

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