For one thing . . .

River comes in. “I had to swing by the grocery store and grab some meat.” I’m about to say it, when she pulls something out of the bag. It’s big. It’s green. It’s got some serious girth.  It’s like a double-dong. Or a horse dick. “And a giant cucumber!” “Uh, I was going to say—” “Something rude?” “No, I was going to say you could grab my meat. But I can’t compete with that.” I can’t compete with it, but it’s giving me all kinds of ideas. “You need somebody to share that with. And I’m not . . . the right kind of person.” For one thing, I can’t stand cucumber.


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