Hi This is to fullfull the request of Erin. its a poem by Sharon Olds "The Pope's Penis" It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate clapper at the ceter of a bell. It moves when he moves, a ghostly fis in a halo of silver seaweed, the hair swaying in the dark and the heat -- and at nigth, while his eys sleep, it stands up in praise of God. There you go Erin
automobile
Now we must remember, girls, that if we are menstruating we gotta watch out for those bears.
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