The cat drools when you pet it.
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The cat drools when you pet it.
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So, of course, I go out of my way to pet it. Several minutes and a small pool of drool later, my job is done. I wipe the excess cat saliva on my mother's couch. I hate that couch.
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It was covered in plastic, cat fur and my discontent. How was it that guests would ever enjoy that damn thing anyway? It was a shrine to my mother's life. Beautiful, but separate.
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I'll never forget the day I had her laminated. The guy at Kinko's looked at me like I was crazy. But I said, this was her dying wish. After that I drug the corpse to
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Mayor Gingivich's waiting room. I imagined his flabby face when, next morning, he would trip over the laminated barmaid in his usual stupor. He'd rack his brain, thinking that he
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had forgotten to put it away. After a few days it would start to gnaw at him. After a week he'd start questioning everything and by the end of the month he'd be ready for the crazy
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glue that he liked to be applied to his rectum. I always used to say to other people about him, "Rectum? Damn near
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kilt him. He blowed up like a balloon, till he could barely squeeze hisself through one of them double doors down the Winn Dixie. He'da popped like the Hindenburg iffin he'd kep
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on-a growin' but that was not gonna be the case. Nosirree. Not BobJoe the Plumber. He had hisself a case of Drain-O in the back of this here pick-up, and he hisself had a funnel
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so he shoved it in his mouth, poured the Drain-O into the funnel and drifted to sleep.
3
- Started
- 2010-11-29 09:58:00
- Finished
- 2011-01-04 21:33:35
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