Doesn't that sound like generation terrorists confession

older asian women are some of the best sex partners , percival, seating, italian mafia, play the guitar like a mother fucking, confession, sexy hot mature , dining, mother fucking do double g , put it in my mouth my mother fucking mouth lyrics , ogged, mature teen porn , wikipedia, mature women nude galleries , west suburbs, craigs list, Not in Antarctica dying of exposure. Not fucking blonde bimbos when my generation terrorists wife isn't looking. Maybe I should start robbing banks. Why the fuck can't you tell me why my stuff is not good? What's wrong with me that I can't write bad enough to be bad and not good enough to be good? What's with all this fucking 'not'?" She says, "Are you done?" Folds her arms and stares at me. "No. I generation terrorists wanna fuck or I wanna do something that can get me killed. Maybe drag racing. Winter mountain climbing generation terrorists in Alaska." "Go home and fuck your wife," she says. "You're a good writer. Stop acting like a baby." I pull down my sunglasses and flutter my eyelashes. "You sure you can resist me?" And truth is, I wouldn't know what to do if she said she'd go with me, but everything inside is hurting way too much for me to act like I don't care anymore. In my brain I've got a picture of her naked with a chapter of my book in her hand, glasses on, reading aloud while I'm over her making babies that will never come because I've been neutered by some Air Force surgeon with a sharp knife.
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Doesn't that sound like a great idea? I'm thinking, hmmm, yes. Yes. Great idea. Whadda ya say? We go wreck our entire lives on one hormone-enraged confession act of supreme stupidity and then you don't have to explain what the fuck confession you mean that my book seems to be good but written by a guy who doesn't want to be an artist. It makes about the same amount of sense." "You're nuts," she says. "Yes, I am nuts," I assure her. "I confession went to Ant-fucking-arctica. I got a fucking book contract. I'm a fucking silicon valley electronics company executive, not a novelist explorer. Or maybe I'm an adventurer. Maybe I'm a latent adulterer. Kat, goddamn it. I don't know what the fuck I am anymore. What I am is defined by what I'm not, rather than what I can do and it's killing me. Is this a midlife crisis? I'm not anything. Not working. Writing crap people don't want to read.
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