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Cursing at myself under my breath as I run out of the cornfield, I’m fucking pissed off for not only choosing to get this drunk tonight, but for having such a poor choice in shoes, not to mention the fact that I just had a mind-blowing orgasm served to me on a corn cob by a masked man in a corn field. Who wears heels to a cornfield? And who the fuck do I think I am coming all over this man’s corn? Me, apparently, and I’m a fucking idiot.
