I was having the strangest dreams last night. I went to bed half-asleep (always an invitation for a bad dream), and it was also freezing. Literally, 30 degrees--but for some reason I was adamant on going to bed. It was just one of those nights that the empty void of the human soul took reign for no reason at all. Seriously, it just decided that
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I personally concluded in my mind that Vagina is the name for an old wrinkly woman in the U.K. who sits in her old crumbly estate in the shires with ivy climbing up her stone property walls and her butler comes in, she slowly turns to scowl at him as she always does, in her doily, dusty dress... and he speaks, "Miss Vagina, your toast is ready..." and when she talks, her lips smack weakly and heavily and spit flies EVERYWHERE... "oh... fine, bruce...".
Oh, Miss Vagina and her silly antics...
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~liz b.
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