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“I find your prose has a certain testicular quality and I mean that in the most complimentary of senses. Your narratives seem to map the varying paths and illuminate the core arguments of the often polemical discourse on the condition knows as modern masculinity. Your sentence structures expand and contract – sag and tighten, if you will – depending on a character’s relation to his (often his, let’s face it) environment and are held together by a spermatic cord that can be seen as a ….”
This was all the aging and reclusive cult author would let her get away with. The smack to the jaw was without venom it was simply matter of fact. He firmly held both her shoulders, pivoted her 180 degrees and with only as much force as was absolutely necessary bent her over, holding the back of her neck for balance. It was enough! No more sophomoric analysis. No more cloying literary double-speak. He was going to get what was coming to him...what she had in fact promised him, which was anal.
As Wendy’s nose bloodied from repeated wallops against the Formica and X’s cock sputtered along through her rectum exacerbating her ulcerative colitis, she wondered what it was about her analysis of his work that he found inaccurate. Unable to find the answer she decided to concentrate on what she had in fact promised him, which was anal.
Date Written: September 22, 2003
Author: Dylan Danko
Average Vote: 3.8333