The Suspense Is Killing Me!
My dear friend M, whose camera I hijacked for my own nefarious purposes in Vegas, has not yet bothered to download my glorious photos onto her computer. So, sadly, I am still without the promised imagery. If she does not comply by tomorrow, I will send Val the Male Stripper to have a little chat with her. And by "chat," I mean "chlamydia transmission session." I am secure, almost as secure as Brangelina's Namibian birthing compound, in the knowledge that this tactic will be effective. Until then...
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