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Out of context: Reply #760
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"Does anybody have Carl Jung's home phone number?"
Woke in a cold sweat. It was the dream where the cops are smashing apart the concrete floor in the basement, looking for a body again. But the one before that, somewhere in the ether, I had the Adriana dream. Yep. The late Ms. La Cerva. We were just about there and she said "get me a moist towelette". Seems her "Le Tigre" was leaking (isn't it s'pose to leak?). All in all, thrills and spills were had in the subconscious.
The 40-something not all that unattractive neighbor, keeping with the theme, was at it again this morning. This time she was alone. Moaning, with her windows open, blinds down. A small electric motor could be heard. I listened. The climax wasn't all that climatic, one of the problems inherent with self-pleasurism. Just a click, the motor stopped. I said loud and clear, for all to hear - "Sounds like fun!" AND instantly, I felt like 10lbs of shit in a 5lb bag. My stupidity sent me reeling and back down into the basement where I now reside. Hiding. I washed down a Celebrex (keep sittin at that computer, you'll see) with a mouth full of spoon-sized shredded wheat. I wonder if they'll ever find that body.