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April 27, 2005
Your wife is dead not three months, and you're putting your dick in my mouth. Your wife is six feet under ground, in a sealed box, in an outfit selected by you, her eyes closed, her hands folded, her every fiber still and rotting, and here you are, your hand on the back of my head, telling me to suck your dick (as if I need prompting) ... and I'm doing it. Out of respect for her, I should stop. Or at least out of respect for myself. But I don't.

Now I hate you even more than I hate myself.