I've always had trouble finding the right pay-by-the-hour motel but this one didn't look so bad. It was a Universal Soldier-type whorehouse, with little bungalows peppering the fenced-off area behind the main office. I didn't want to ask questions, typically one doesn't when the guy behind the counter looks like an impoverished grunt with a
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I think we should talk.
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Damage, Irreversible, What's that "It puts the lotion on it's skin" movie? Silence of the Lambs?
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No. We should choose something with JRM in it, just because we've run out of better options.
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Wolverine: *gets into a car accident, claws at a tree*
Charles Xavier: *gasps, shocked and appalled*
Jean Grey: *kills something and saves the day*
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Next, please. Oh, I know. How about "How Hugh Jackman Was Consumed By His Jealousy and Ended Up Murdering Every Boy Fernanda Tavares Ever Spoke To, Ever."
>:0
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Poppycock, Fernanda. You said that you probably had sex with him. I am jealous, you owe me the dignity of that at least.
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Of course you're jealous.
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