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If you get the opportunity to snort c*ke off a girl’s ass, only one thought will go through your mind, blandly and iteratively.
“Here I am, snorting c*ke off a girl’s ass.”
The whole experience is meta to the max; audience to your own theater. The arietta will be accompanied by a syncopation of contrived eroticism, which nonetheless won’t much diminish its melodic exhilaration, because something beastly and primal is exposed by the indiscriminate consumption. But the passion, tacitly scripted, will in recollection seem quite silly the next day under the harsh glare of a noontime sun.