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(Originally posted on: 05-18-03 03:12:37 PM)
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Five minutes ago, I took a short stroll down the hallway to the bathroom door. I placed my hand on the brass-like knob, and turned my wrist, in order to open the door, and enter the bathroom. The door had been locked. So I knocked, twice (consecutively, like this: knock, knock), and my brother asks in a loud, perturbed voice, "What do you want?". I'd like my deodorant, of course, because I cannot remember if I put any on during my half-awake stupor-trip to the toilet and sink this morning. I realize, as my brother asks me what I want, that he is taking a nice, long, hot bath--most likely with scented bath salts--at four in the afternoon. Why would my brother do this? He abhors bathing more than I ever could. For Christ's sake, he wears the same clothes two days in a row, and then sleeps in them. So why is he bathing--bathe, because he's taking a bath, not a shower--so late in the day, when if he truly needed to wash, it could be postponed a mere three or four hours? There is only one reasonable explanation; my brother is doing the naughty-naughty with himself. This means, at one point, the hand that touched his pee-pee, touched my deodorant stick.
Now I'm afraid to touch my deodorant, and fear for the platinum protection of my armpits, and sanitation of my hands. :{:{
It is a strange world, a sad world, a world of miseries, and woes, and troubles; and yet when King Laugh come he make them all dance to the tune he play. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall-all dance together to the music that he make with smileless mouth of him. And believe me...that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us differeny ways. Then tears come; and, like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too great, and we break. But Kind Laugh he come like the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again; and we bear to go on with our labour, what it may be.
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