I suppose this is alternative papers videos

t shirt, original reporting, fucker, humourous, 2003, singaporean, sex, videos, pathetic geek stories, shirts from hell, t shirt hell, adult, ps2, record, bud, political, apartments, tattoo, dyingfetus lyrics, 1996 cricket world cup, food, larry david, I hear the song and I'm briefly paralyzed, suddenly in the grip again of your eyes with the alternative papers light flecks, suddenly doing a pretty good impersonation of my father when he faded out alternative papers for five-minute intervals. I'm in the moment, heavily whipped, freshly kissed, for the first time. But also, I know I'll never get you alternative papers back. I don't mean get you back. I mean, just get you back here, once, sitting down for a coffee so we can talk, maybe somehow recall, however briefly, what it's like to be 12 again. That would be nice. Because, although you were the first, you were, more importantly, the last: the last of those dying days of youth, the last of the purity, just before the puberty set in and skunked things up and sealed off walls and made hair kink and made the voice change.
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I suppose this is a good time to say that I'm doing all right. I mean, you know, life goes on and there have been other unfortunate, slightly less meaningful incidents involving sweet lovers. But I'm doing all videos right, making money, engaging in relatively healthy relationships and all videos that. (Adulthood is boring!) But even so, sometimes I'll be driving down the highway and I'll come across the song, our videos song, on the radio, and I'll be in the car with someone and they'll somehow sing it the wrong way. You know as well as I do, proper pronunciation in this song is everything. It brings it to life: It's the voice of the Inner-Self (if you'll pardon the yoga-speak; I'm taking a class now), the true voice, the one that doesn't speak our language, but if it did, it would have to be interpreted from another dimension, so that when it came through, the words would be skewed, slippery, like an fevered, possessed robot trying to talk: re-mem-BERRRRRRRR. 
suzanne shepherd, 1999, velvet acid christ calling (fuck shit mother fucker mix) song lyrics, jeff sharlet
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