Christopher A. Clark

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There, John sat on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle he’d sneaked out of the church parking lot. He had strapped six silicone butts to various parts of his torso with bungee straps. He was holding Buddha’s mace, which had six pink dildos taped to it. I said, “Forget it, we don’t need the diversion. I got intercepted by Ted.” John looked crestfallen.
What the Hell Did I Just Read (John Dies at the End, #3)
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