“Miranda,” you might say.
“Please tell me you’re
not seriously going to
turn in a poem about a
prostate exam that has
been cleverly reshaped
(the poem, I mean, not the
prostate exam) to look
just like a penis.”
“Of course not,” I’d reply.
“I’d never do something
awful like that,” I’d
tell you. But I’d
be lying.So basically I’ve got an assload of
(
Read more... )