You Think That It’s Not Magic That

What Are You, Zen Master Fang?

As I Climbed Up Into The High Old Bed, The Large Fly In My Personal Ointment Did The Same. Had I Actually Told Him He Could Get In Bed With Me? Well, I Decided, As I Wriggled Down Under The Soft Old Sheets And The Blanket And The Comforter, If Eric Had Designs On Me, I Was Just Too Tired To Care. "woman?" "hmmm?" "what's Your Name?" "sookie. Sookie Stackhouse." "thank You, Sookie." "welcome, Eric.

Don’t You Just Hate Nights Like That, When You Think Over Every Mistake You’ve Made, Every Hurt You’ve Received, Every Bit Of Meanness You’ve Dealt Out? There’s No Profit In It, No Point To It, And You Need Sleep.

If I Have To Choose Between You And Me - I Like Me Better.

God Bless The American Spectator.