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I got this one in an email the other day... and quite enjoyed it!
" Jаkе left Тhеir ovrteurned Shосks of Соrn Unhuskеd Fоr the whole Dау.
(link was here)
Now this being done, and full tidings thereof sent off to Mrs.
Has laid upon me, to oppose thy rage.
For him or for Marphisa to achieve."
I've had a few that were similar, but none quite as poetic.
“You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.”
And that's why I'm here eating HFLC Primal/Paleo.
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My dearest Smidlishirm,
You have no idea how embarrassed I am about last night, and please accept my most abject apologies. It has never happened before, I assure you. I am well known for my 50 Shades prowess from coast-to-coast, and even a few lucky souls in Spain and England can attest that I take it even further, to 51. One would think I did this professionally, but no, it is natural talent. Until now.
Last night, in the most romantic of scenes, I could not puff my fettle no matter how hard I tried. It was not you. Oh my darling Smidlishirm, not at all! You were magnificent. The candles were burning, and Ke$ha was playing, and outside the wind was shaking the trees so that their leaves mingled in connubial bliss. But my fettle failed me. Could it be age? My level medical conditions? My burdens in living? I do not know. But it would not puff, and I huffed and puffed and blew until I was sore. You were so kind and understanding about it, but I just wanted to sink into the earth and die. I was ready to show you all 51 Shades in the bedroom, and instead I took you to 31 Choices for ice cream and insisted on buying you their most expensive cone. It was all I could do.
So today I am going to the doctor to discuss this, because my doctor has medical skill that will beget a peeping mingling repayment. I do not know what this means, since I did not become a doctor and cannot translate medicalese, even though I would have looked hot in a white coat and probably picked up many more admirers than I did as a former Petsmart dog washer. I promise you that I will fix this feebleness. And then my blood will somersault again, and perhaps we can try a second time.
Honey, that goes beyond eunuch. He appears to be missing half his pelvis.
Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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