Have you ever gotten good advice while dropping a deuce at a dive bar? Have you ever pondered “Who is Luis, and why won’t he call Terry?” and then scribbled “Fuck him, girl!” as a helpful reply? If you’re a poet who practices while emptying your bowels into a toilet that hasn’t been cleaned since the 60s — or if you’re the type of lady who appreciates that type of lady — I’ve got something for you.
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