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It has been my lifelong dream to be tall enough one day to fuck a giraffe. I have tried enticing them to ground level with carefully placed shrubs to make my task easier but it's difficult to coordinate my priapic lunges when I'm standing on the shoulders of an obliging bushman. It would be much easier if I could strike up some sort of casual, non-sexual relationship first but they have little conversation; only want to talk about leaves, Damien Hirst's spot paintings and the perils of sheet lightning on the savannah.
I don't think invisibility on the part of the giraffe would make much difference, unless of course it shared Lord Fanny's taste in couture.
As for your Headshop query, Rage, after a whole year of barbling, I am still too intimidated by the Brainiacs there to do more than sneek about furtively, quickly buy a tube of queery theory or a roll of assorted labels, and slip away before I attract attention. But I am truly shocked by the abuse you report. Some people just have no manners, do they? |
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