"Dedicated to the Living Memory of Moira Penzes, She will always allow the donkey to bathe the sparrow gently" I woke up today and took a big dookie. Whiskey here seems to be the brown bottom flu and can wreak hell upon the anus the next day. As I sat on the porcelain throne praying to all my relatives past, I looked through the keyhole of the bathroom door. Now I’m not an artist and I don’t really care for art. I’d rather be beaten by a bunch of Texans in an alleyway for cheating at poker than walk around a museum filled with paintings and statues of naked philosophers. My art itch strikes me rarely and at the most ridiculous times. This time, it was during poop. All the room keyholes in Irish homes are
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