“I can’t believe you guys think I do that. Dad, I’m not a fucking pony! Vince is not my master! He’s my boyfriend.” “Language,” my father said. “Sorry,” I grumbled. And I was. If there was one thing my father asked for, it was that we watched our mouths. He was of the opinion that cursing added nothing to a conversation. I didn’t fucking agree with that in the slightest, but it was fucking important to him, so I fucking did it. Fucking shit balls.
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