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'No,' said Ishmael.
'Keep it. I've enough goats as it is.'
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Sunday, 5 April 2009
A Short Story
John Wayne was sitting under the desert sun.
'Why am I sitting under the desert fucking sun?' he snapped at the lackey holding his sunshade.
'That shade's about as useful as an ice sculpture of my ass.'
Blushing, the lackey -- who had been transfixed by the sight of John Wayne shucking slivers of skin from the soles of his feet with a fruit knife -- re-angled the parasol.
'Actually,' mused John Wayne, 'an ice sculpture of my ass could be interesting.'
'CLAUDITA!' he screamed.
'Why am I sitting under the desert fucking sun?' he snapped at the lackey holding his sunshade.
'That shade's about as useful as an ice sculpture of my ass.'
Blushing, the lackey -- who had been transfixed by the sight of John Wayne shucking slivers of skin from the soles of his feet with a fruit knife -- re-angled the parasol.
'Actually,' mused John Wayne, 'an ice sculpture of my ass could be interesting.'
'CLAUDITA!' he screamed.
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