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153 lines
4.6 KiB
Text
153 lines
4.6 KiB
Text
.LP
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.ce
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.ps 16
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.CW
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STARTING THEM YOUNG
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.R
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.ps 8
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.CW
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tags: 1935, nana_mold, plinth_mold
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.R
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Tomorrow is a holiday, but today is not. My parents are both at
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work, and I'm stuck here at the babysitter's house, sitting out the
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two or three or four hours that I'll be trapped in this room, lying on
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my pallet, dreaming without sleep about every possible other thing I
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could be doing with my time. I don't know why she locks me in here.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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.I
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Granny
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.R
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is not really my grandmother. But that does not keep her
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from closing me up into the spare bedroom after lunch, leaving me
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there until shortly before my parents arrive to take me home. What am
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I meant to be
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.I
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doing,
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.R
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during all of this time? Granny has not been
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forthcoming on the subject.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Today's focus is a new assortment of military adventure toys.
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Specifically, the pre\-visualization of a flying machine whose swept
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wings must be made to contract upon the release of a certain switch\(emI
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presume to be located somewhere along the aircraft's aft fuselage.
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I'm having a bit of trouble figuring out precisely how the wing
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mechanism will work. Something to do with strings or wires of some
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sort, all obfuscated from the child/operator. The picture is as yet
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fuzzy...
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Also up for review is a full\-size, realistic combat uniform,
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infused with what I will for marketing purposes refer to as "the scent
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of battle." These two ideas should tide me over until the big door
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unlocks, clicks open at around four o'clock. If I concentrate upon
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this pair of images intently enough, conceive of them in great enough
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detail, covering every possible feature, I am convinced\(emno, I am
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\fIcertain\fR\(emthat they will have materialized in my bedroom closet by
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the time I get home. It is not clear why I choose to believe in this
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notion, but I confess that I do. I suppose such activity amuses me.
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Consider my age.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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First then, the aircraft.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Dad is insatiable screwing his daughter," a voice states, aloud,
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sounding quite desperate to be heard. It is only mildly distracting as
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I am quite used to this sort of thing by now. I shrug vaguely without
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losing my train of thought. Laughable, really, these attempts at
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derailing my creative process.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Japanese teen showing her hairy pussy," the voice continues. I
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have no trouble ignoring the outburst, and so carry on with my
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daydreaming as if no auditory phenomena were taking place. All is
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calm.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Homeless guy wearing a brand new 8\-ball jacket."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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That, I'm sorry to admit, tears it. I have finally had enough. I
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straighten myself and reply:
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.PP
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.ps 10
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.I
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"Little cutie screams as she gets drilled on her new boss' desk.
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.R
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Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? May I proceed now?"
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I have prepared myself for a dramatic pause, but the voices
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promptly dissolve into a perfect silence. Indeed, one could almost be
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lulled into sleep in this quiet. Would that all of my projects could
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be undertaken in such sublime stillness. I'm quite certain that the
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balance of my output would yield a sharp increase in quality.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Now," I think to myself, "Let's get back to work."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Before long, the voices are at it again.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"Innocent Gays getting modernistic IT anally."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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This time, I don't even dignify the disruption with a response. Why
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do they bother? I'm simply not interested.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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And yet, I have to admit that the voices have once again succeeded
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in distracting my attention. Remarkable, these recent advances in
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advert technology.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Granny knocks gently as she enters, clutching a packet of my
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medications. She casts a knowing look as she unscrews the bottles,
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sorting the myriad variety of colored pellets into the concave
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depressions of her tray. Her eyes caress me with warm approval as I
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accept the arrangement of doses and commence popping pills.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"You were diddling yourself in here again, weren't you, Plinth."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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"No," I say. "You're hearing things, old woman."
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I think she is smiling at me but it's difficult to tell because she
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is so old that her face appears quite wrinkled even when she is
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asleep, or watching her programs on telescreen. Is that a smile, or is
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it merely the untreated cracking of leather?
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I assume she was joking, that she didn't actually see me with my
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hands in my pants.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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There. Now I am
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.I
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certain
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.R
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she is smiling. This is preposterous. As
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if I needed more variables to consider.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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I am tired. Much too tired to continue.
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.PP
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.ps 10
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Where are my parents?
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.PP
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.ps 10
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That's all for today, Diary.
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EOF
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