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01/13/26   
The Answer. The Question. The Excuse.

Marmalade and Lace

by Melissa Torkens
bio/email
August 19, 2002
Marmalade and lace,
I step on your face
as you draw back your bow.
Where's the arrow? I don't know.

These lovers' games without names…
or at least maybe they should be.
"Drunken Pump" robs my dignity,
couldn't we call it "Double Indemnity"?

You Probe me with your Ford
while I hum My Sweet Lord
and your Contours I memorize.
My good name you blasphemise!

We meet in the 'twain
like orchids in the rain,
the drops of which are nearly heard
over the blaring Lynard Skynard.

As you plunge deep into my soul,
in your passion you try the wrong hole.
Will your roguish fingers probe my labia?
Don't be silly, you know what's a labia.
Our souls have spanned all time to be together
and in their unity we will last past forever.
In your ear I gasp to catch breath,
and uh… sure, I guess you can call me Beth..

The stars whisper tonight we will be as one
because I see now that Friends is a re-run.
Your love is too rich to regret…
twenty seconds I will never forget.


Quote of the Day
“Seek not greatness, but seek truth and you will find both. If, however, you find a bag that looks like oregano, it's mine. I mean, if the cops ask you, it's not mine, but I am totally holding it for a friend of mine.”

-Ron Horsemann
Fortune 500 Cookie
Another day, another dollar—you should really quit the migrant worker biz for a job where you can make more than a buck a day. Fans of sweaty three-ways with lesbians rejoice, they'll have your video in stock this Thursday. I've been smelling beans all day. That can't be just me. Lucky Lucianos will be Angelo, Salvatore, Emilio, and Gary.


Try again later.
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Archives
My New Lifestyle
Monday, August 5, 2002 If I could ever be as free as a tree, I'd pee only Brie. My neighbors would see the beauty of me. I'd sing like a duck and have all the good luck. I'd dance for a buck and sleep in a truck I bought for a buck ... (8/5/02)

State of the Union Jack
Random parables are wearable surf sluts speak of Sarin gas like a bubble from Hitler's ass America's flying at half-mast Conspirators eat beer and s'mores while Dutch elves poison naked bears nobody cares what the emperor wears as long... (7/22/02)

Your Honor
A little dog choked on a draidel, a ladle, a can of beef stew and a wicker kazoo. His owner, a loner from Kalamazoo, in a wrath drew a bath that he filled up with glue. The soup of white goop he stirred with an oar and what's more he added the... (7/8/02)

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