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I want to consume and be consumed by the objects of my desire until they make me sick; I want to puke them back out and rearrange them like tea leaves.
It’s not my place, as a hot dog historian, to declare cops who fearmonger to lazy press outlets to be shit-sucking losers, but I’m going to anyway.
(a pickle in pearls, I want to feel her pickle arms around my human torso at the door on Christmas morning),
There’s something very beautiful about a deli that dares to be horny.
