As a result, in 1974 they passed the National Research Act, which finally closed the apparent loophole in American law that said it was OK for mad scientists to kill people in their experiments.
You've seen my amateur porn shoots, then? No? Because you speak as though you have, at some time, witnessed me giving a fuck.
If it wasn't for Etsy, I'd have to wear dumb mittens knit by my grandma, instead of these cool mittens knit by someone I never met.
The luminous mask of her face, waxy, immobile, with eyes like sentinels. Watching my sybaritic walk, and I the sibilance of her tongue. Deep into each other we turned our harlot eyes. She was an idol in Byzance, an idol dancing with legs parted; and I wrote with pollen and honey. The soft secret yielding of woman I carved into men's brains with copper words; her image I tattooed in their eyes. They were consumed by the fever of their entrails, the indissoluble poison of legends. If the torrent failed to engulf them, or did they extricate themselves, I haunted their memory with the tale they wished to forget. All that was swift and malevolent in woman might be ruthlessly destroyed, but who would destroy the illusion on which I laid her to sleep each night?
Advice for the day: if you have a lot of tension and you get a headache, do what it says on the aspirin bottle: "Take two aspirin" and "Keep away from children".
"Wow, you even do sarcasm." "It's a formula. No harder than learning to field-strip and reassemble a disintegumentizing hand cannon." "That easy, huh?"
"You'll think things and I'll get bored and feel trapped because that's what happens with me." "Okay."