ocean shores
i adore the shore, and even more the grocery store, with its uncanny tendency to play 'I Want to Know What Love Is' every single time i walk down aisle four. but today as i was searching for stomach relief with protective coating action, i suddenly realized that no music was playing, and it was a surprise to me, a great and lonely surprise much like when you think you and your best friend are double teaming a crack hooker only come to find out you're actually at home alone reading Cosmopolitan with a military surplus flashlight that smells faintly of phosphorous.
hold on, the phone is ringing.
uh, excuse me for a moment.
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From: brandon
Dear Hearst Enterprises,
In the October 17th post on the hugely popular and women-friendly web site, One Child Left Behind Dot Com, it might appear that the author was comparing reading one of your magazines to chomping at the naughty bits of a drug-addicted prostitute. That couldn't be further from the truth, as Mr. R----- only frequents licensed brothels and massage parlors. In fact, the only real victims here are the street hookers, bereft of his money and services, which more often than not includes a slide show of the various birds who visit his backyard, and at least one that doesn't, the Western Scrub Jay.
Sincerely,
Anonymous
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Surprising, like that.
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