Wednesday, October 31, 2007


to the way things really are,
they don't care what I care about
as long as I alleviate my oral fixations.
"It's all about that;
the rest is bonus."

Disconcerting blood flow bauble-assed,
everything else going to waste,
my mouth stays closed, ajar, lubricated
words, sounds in traffic, evaporate in the distance,
when we let ourselves ignore.

"There are always sacrifices."
Context, balance, tightropes;
wanting-to-be-adored-for-all-the 'right' reasons,
And in their minds they can't see that we know;
they don't even know themselves.

Monogamy. Decided by you,
or some other thing before you
negative implications to subdue blood flow reversals vivid tongue grazing imagery swelling
fear in the eternal hell;
burning sensations around the sensitive skin areas
--the romantic sanctity of closeness, so pure.

My heart's the size of a whale compared to your wildebeast;
my attention span's ocean vast, it thrives,
my guilt: an anemone,
passions: ten tickled testicles on an exaggerated octopus.
Thrive on Savannah wheat grass alone?

In the word 'luxury,'
the 'X' is sandwiched between two 'u's.
'Guilt' has nothing to do with it anymore,
when it's only a word,
a sign saying:
"beware," "no trespassing" or "stop,"
a fence I slide my lips around,
splinters. .

Thursday, October 25, 2007

'narcissism' from an elitist's perspective


"Narcissistic personality disorder is a condition characterized by an inflated sense of self-importance, need for admiration, extreme self-involvement, and lack of empathy for others. Individuals with this disorder are usually arrogantly self-assured and confident. They expect to be noticed as superior. Many highly successful individuals might be considered narcissistic. However, this disorder is only diagnosed when these behaviors become persistent and very disabling or distressing."

elitism -n.
The belief that certain persons or members of certain classes or groups deserve favored treatment by virtue of their perceived superiority, as in intellect, social status, or financial resources.

confidence -n.
2. belief in oneself and one's powers or abilities; self-confidence; self-reliance; assurance: His lack of confidence defeated him.
3. certitude; assurance: He described the situation with such confidence that the audience believed him completely.

talent -n.
A marked innate ability, as for artistic accomplishment. See Synonyms at
Natural endowment or ability of a superior quality. A special natural ability or aptitude: a talent for drawing.
A capacity for achievement or success; ability: young men of talent.

Plato Vs. Nietzsche: The Nature of Good Plato and Nietzsche have opposing views on the nature of good. Plato, as demonstrated in the "The Cave" and "Apology," believes that Good is absolute. This means that he is of the opinion that there is one perfect version of Good for all people, whether they are rich or poor, powerful or weak. However, Nietzsche believes in the relative nature of good. He thinks that the meaning of good can be different for different groups of people, specifically the upper (master) class and the lower (slave) class.

I remember sitting in the back of one of many a psychology class, (because I thought the different smells of people were disgusting, and personal, and none of my business) raising my hand, and acknowledging the burden of having a personality disorder for the first time in my life; asking if having too much confidence could really be that bad, begging the question of 'should it really be considered a disorder if you're totally bad-assed in every way?'

My question was dismissed as a joke, but in the absurd way I presented it, that was an option I've always offered instructors, to buffer the more likely answer of "I don't know," since that's what you usually get when you ask for answers outside of textbooks, a.k.a. asking good questions. There is an art form to being subversive if you're not trying to make an enemy out of yourself, which often involves elements such as: tact, good timing, and humor.

As a person who's studied much psychology, a moderate amount of philosophy, and a mild dose of politics, in and out of school, I consider the word 'narcissist'...hell, the entire concept of narcissism, in the same sense that I consider the concept of 'arrogance,' as a negative way (for people who hold contempt in their inequality, in their jealousy) to use words as weapons to make people who are better than them feel bad about it.

In an air of positive connotations, controversial/negative seeming personality describing adjectives, i.e., 'narcissism' or 'arrogance' translate with little effort into the sunshiny realm of 'confidence.'

Think about it, has anyone ever said something like, "Man, that guy Tom's a smart, good looking guy, but he's got way too much confidence. I think he's mentally ill for that."


How about, "Man, that Tom's a smart, good looking guy and a total fucking dickhead because he knows every woman in the neighborhood wants to throw their soppin poons at him. Tom's a fucking narcissist because he knows he's not ugly, and won't be my friend because my wife thinks I am fat and disgusting looking and keeps telling me to start jogging again, but what's her fat ass gonna do to get rid of those oceans of cellulite beneath her floppy size 16 butt cheeks, and man, Tom has no right to think he's better than anybody because he's in shape from exercise and a healthy diet, has a good job from a good education, and reads books by dead people. We're all gonna die one day anyway, so what's the point, right? God, I hate Tom. I hate him for trying to make the best out of life, so I'm gonna blame all my problems on narcissistic people like him. Jerks!"

I have to say this, and this might shock people, and offend people, but I don't care:

It is okay to love yourself.

It is okay to look in the mirror and think, "Awesome, I'm so glad my parents have good genes because I am not ugly like a lot of people I see everywhere I go, like crazy Mr Potato Head looking people," and shudder.

It's okay to not be buddies with the guy at your job who loves Nascar, porn, and America's Next Top Model because he wears Bermuda shorts and Metallica shirts to work every other day.

It's okay to grab a handful of fat from your gut and think, "I'd better do something about this before I turn into a fatty turd bucket looking chum sack that can't even see my own feet when I sit down to take a shit."

It's okay, that there is something called the mediocrity principle: saying there is nothing special about humans or the earth, a bar, a consensus, the herd, most people, average, typical, norms; that you don't relate to predictable views and ways of entertainment for people who are proud to be normal, and not 'weird' or 'eccentric' or 'different.'

I have met, interacted with, and studied a vast majority of personalities in my life. I have learned that communication is much easier when the person you're talking to doesn't hate you for making them feel worthless and insecure because you are better looking, have more money, are more intelligent, have better clothes, weren't beaten by your father, have a nicer car, would be impossible to fuck, have better skin, have been to foreign countries, or are good at things like painting lifelike portraits or wailing the electric like Hendrix.

If narcissism's roots are planted in being a realist and recognizing and embracing your own assets as a human being as being kick ass, then all people with a positive sense of self-awareness should be diagnosed as having a problem, or at least chastised as arrogant assholes because there's something wrong with everybody, right?

I'm sorry. Now that I think about it, I have no right to think that I am any better than anyone.

Starting tomorrow I am going to fuck whoever wants to fuck me from now on. Especially the fat, ugly, lesser intelligent men, since that's been the brunt of most most of my propositions, since I was a kid. I mean, what gives me the right to think that I'm above those, probably-really-nice-in-their-own-ways, characters?

And for those who even think about printing that last paragraph off and trying to use it as a coupon, "I hate you because you're ugly and dumb, as does everybody else," so fuck off.

Monday, October 22, 2007

20 items, a.k.a 'cunt peppers'-by people who use bad words

0.44 Lbs @ 1/ 7.99 F 3.52
0.32 Lbs @ 1/ 4.99 F 1.60
15 BRITA REPL FILTER 35512 4 T 7.98
0.35 Lbs @ 1/ 1.49 F 0.52
0.21 Lbs @ 1/ 1.18 F 0.25
1.84 Lbs @ 1/ 1.79 F 3.29
21 FP cunt FRESCA
1 Ea. @ 3/ 10.00 TF 3.34
*******Sale Subtotal*** 61.35
Sales Tax 3.24
*****Total Sale*** 64.39

this poem is dedicated to elimae

Sunday, October 21, 2007


The Rorschach inkblot test is a method of psychological evaluation. Psychologists use this test to try to examine the personality characteristics and emotional functioning of their patients. The Rorschach is currently the second most commonly used test in forensic assessment, after the MMPI. It has been employed in diagnosing underlying thought disorder and differentiating psychotic from nonpsychotic thinking in cases where the patient is reluctant to openly admit to psychotic thinking.

I'd always wanted to
ignite a strike anywhere match
with two day old cheek stubble.
Tried it on the back of my front teeth once.
As a result, the tip of my tongue was distracted for weeks, from the absense of enamel.

The brand new bottle of Jack was thrown back, in less than ten,
and before we could even remotely catch the effects,
the two gallon porcelain tiki hut was filled to the brim,
with a bottle of vodka,
strawberry gatorade-for the sake electrolytes and flavor,
carbonated power drinks for oomph,
bubbles, vigor.

To and fro, his slow attitude watched,
from a recliner covered with cat hair,
his apathy, unamused most of the time, unless that one person calls, and then he turns
into multicolored Christmas lights the day after Thanksgiving,
next door.

"In the movies,
there's a fire in a hotel, the hero punches the glass shielding the fire extinguisher, removes it, and pops bad guys in the head
like some midievil mace ball," I said,
my hand over the sink, band-aids and ointment coming from every which way.

"Those people in movies are usually in desperate situations and break the glass that way out of panic."

You didn't know I knew that already
but thank you.


Thursday, October 18, 2007


"Your actions are strongly tied into your emotions today, Sabra, so make sure you remain centered throughout the day. Be careful of sudden whims that might take you off on some tangent direction that will leave you stranded in a back ally somewhere at the end of the day. This doesn't mean, however, that you should turn away any situation that comes up suddenly and unexpectedly. Just make sure that what you put your time and energy towards is something you truly believe in."

I don't know who in the world's writing these horoscopes for me, but I want to be their friend. He or she is obviously a writer/philosopher/intellectual making a living cranking out these daily outline affirmation type guidelines between novels, and I can see that what we have in common is our ability to find jobs which we find interesting and bemusing, for the time being. I can imagine whomever saying to a confidant, "I wrote this great horoscope today about not taking an impending situation too seriously, basically telling the sign of Aquarius to slow down and try to enjoy life despite all the stressors which are pretty friggin inevitable ya know? And I say this in so many which ways, and try to be positive, and keep the cynicism hungry? Let's get some food. How about Thai? Yeaaah. Okay, what was I saying, oh yeah, my job is awesome, nevermind, you know this. So, how'd your tips go? Any twenties thrown your way last night, like the other night? Cool. You're buying today."

We are a scattered bunch, but I recognize one of us when I see you, and it gives me hope enough to give you all the love and support I can muster, even if you never let yourself have the arrogance to understand why. Let's amalgamate shall we? Take whatever you can use from me. I will make more, and give, as long as you are productive, and useful to me in my silly ideals
of progress, revolution and/or revelation.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007


I'm on something called Twitter where I am only allowed 140 characters or less to create greatness. Here are some recent posts to illustrate what a classy lady I am. And please, no marriage proposals. I am already in a relationship with your mother, and her delicious breasts make for ample company.


I sleep on a couch three nights a week for 50 dollars a pop. No really.

"A damn kindergardener grabbed my tit and I was all 'you can't do that' and he was all 'nah, it's all right baby. It's cool.'"

"but i like it," is what the 6 year-old whined, when I told him "don't do that" to him repeatedly jabbing my butt cheek with his finger.

We woke up and exchanged zombie dream stories. Mine had X-Men powers with vampire teeth. His were plain.

If you think about it, zombies have a tough time, because skulls- they're REALLY hard.

I think she's got a dog, I hear its feet go BADABADABADA all across the ceiling, then WHOOOSH, the sliding door. Other than that, nothing.

I like it when a boy enthusiastically eats candy that's been sitting in my mouth for a long time. It shows that he is tough.

A long time ago I decided to replace regrets with orgasms and everything's been better since I stopped worrying about nothing.

Walruses have funny fang looking things on their furry faces. If I had fangs and a furry face, I'd probably be a mack and dance a lot.

If I were a stick figure, I'd be a boy stick figure with a giant stick for a penis.

Fresca has to be my favorite soft drink. My favorite hard drink is rocks in a jug mixed with turpentine and grease.

Most people don't know what I'm talking about and think I'm crazy until they realize I am satan clause and own their soul.

I bought a red Peggy Sue wig while in New York to wear as a disguise during sex. I will also wear sunglasses.

Dance for me. I will like you if the jello is fresh.

I fix myself up more when he's gone. I am my own doll, and the doll of others only when I'm in the mood to be adored.

When I told him the batch of pictures turned out well, he asked if they were of my profile. He said,"You have such a lovely profile."

The enamel on the back of my front teeth is still worn down from Saturday's night's strike anywhere matches.

I've started eating apples all the time, and termites.

Had another natural disaster dream last night with rising waters and boats. I wonder if drowning to death is similar to puking to death.

Went to the grand opening of a place called Ink last night for free food and drinks. They asked me how I wanted my Jack, I said in a glass.

When my skin smells like vanilla, mouths want to taste my large organ.

Relationships are great. Variety in and of itself and in relationships is great. I had lamb for lunch today. It was alright.

I've been told I'm initially difficult to understand. Who isn't really? Everyone seems to like to pretend a lot, in the beginning.

I felt my body eat itself for lunch today, after I skipped breakfast, and thought, "Well, that's what fat's for right? It's just extra food"

Went to a park today where people crawled on rocks and let the currents drag them while dogs sprayed themselves dry on muddy banks.

I just ate some 4 day old cold sushi. My stomach is starting to get mad at me. Vomiting might happen. I hear noises.

I got a new pair of gray Puma's yesterday, with a purple swish. I like to lick the bottoms of new shoes before I get dirt on them.

If I were a boy, I'd date a girl who liked cigarettes. This would guarantee an oral fixation, and I would want a lot of bl...kisses.

It pisses me off when I smell ass on somebody. Quit smelling like ass, people.

I am right and you are wrong. Unless you are right. Then I am wrong. Okay, we're both right. But I smell better than you.

My favorite cereal lately is raisin bran without the raisins. Sugary, dried up grapes don't really entertain me as much as they used to.

Little Richard came out on crutches, sat down at the piano in his white sequined outfit and sang like some old drag queen, last night.

I bought a rug yesterday. Rugs are cool. I like to walk on them and step on them and drool on them and roll up like a taco, haha no I don't.

My Super Ex whatever movie with Owen Wilson's double chin and Uma was actually really cheesy good despite the stupid previews.

Got caught in the rain today, soaked me to the bottoms of my butt cheeks sticking to my legs. I liked it, muddy feet and all.

Ever spell the breath of people who don't floss? It's very similar to inhaling dead rotted rectums.

Fisting is a weird concept. I don't think I'd like it very much, but I can be somewhat of a prude when it comes to large punching things.

Today my mom told me a psychic told her that my boyfriend was manipulating/using me. I kind of laughed when she told me that.

Funny how a short attention span, and fickle dating behavior in general, is a strange side affect of a jogging addiction.

I thought about what it might be like to be a dung beetle when the hypothetical 'what bug would you be' question came up. Aphids are cooler

Elitism is a word made bad by people who were born with less than people who have more.

Took a few amazing photos with bonfire illuminations and shadows last night while a German Shepard looked good to saddle and ride.

Found an old notebook today with a ballpoint picture of a giraffe, some poetry attempts, a few scribbles from ex friends.

I was feeding dogs marshmellows last night. I hope marshmellows don't kill dogs.

I have a pretty healthy nymphomniac empathy because I don't think it's wrong to like sex a lot, or a lot of sex, or tons of sex a lot.

Was James Brown supposed to live forever or something?

It's true. Fish live much longer than humans and animals because we're addicted to oxygen. I pray my mutant babies will have gills.

Sometimes when I spell the word 'boyfriend', I accidently spell it 'botfriend'. This makes me think robot penuses are probably fun.

Friday, October 12, 2007

on dreams

For Robert: An explanation

Because of the way that my memory capacities function, I have often found myself ruffled from images that appear in my dreams, images I can't shake; conjured events as if they'd really happened more vividly than in real life .

I think about it this way: the sum of my experiences are based on remembered events being utilized in applicable situations (otherwise moments are lost and forgotten forever, unless written down, or spoken of to a second party, which in part turns the events into tangible observations.)

In my wicked subconscious, which absorbs information like a space sponge and mixes it with exposures in real life: i.e., events, movies, media, books, people; I never really know ‘what dreams may come’ and be remembered---with their every crispy creamy gory details strange enough to make David Lynch's strangest movies look like sugar cookie tea parties in comparison.

I could get into it. I could explain in detail; the feelings of having all my fingers sliced off by a madman, of being shot, stabbed, bitten with sharp teeth and drained, mauled by humans out of their right minds, arrows in my side, gut punches, cars smashed with warm blows to the head and hot blood on my face, wing’d creatures chasing in grocery stores , of a soaring weightlessness, extracted teeth , swarms of insects devouring bodies from the head down.

Omnipotent powers, masterpiece landscapes, characters, terror, vending machines, floods, sex with whoever I desired living or dead, playing people like puppets in virtual cities made of bright colors and people's heads and insides and smashed animals screaming all over the streets with expressionless drivers sitting in traffic, deities with good advice, guardians, of dying, real hell, heaven, purgatory. I’ve seen it. I’ve been there.

As bazaar as it sounds, I think I remember dreams that people aren’t supposed to have the ability to remember, which can sometimes be very inconvenient for me, though understandably interesting for others to look upon, even if only for the sake of defending their own contextual stability. Ironically too, one of my first memories as a baby, is of a dream; driving a rocking chair down a street with stuffed animals surrounding me on all sides.

I fell out of bed a lot as a child.

Monday, October 8, 2007

the dark

In a car, on a date, going to a house where we will stay, we are driving through a field, straight, with the headlights turned off; there is no light anywhere, and barely on his face in the pitch black, sometime close to midnight. I'm nervous; we are going fast. I ask him how he can see the road; I don't remember his answer. I stay nervous until we stop; in front of a house, we crawl around the outside, through a doorway, into more dark inside.

There is a quiet man, who whispers hello, he explains:

"They come out when there is light, the things outside." Past the pitch black window, he points in the dim room where he hides, though he does not seem scared at all. "If you can't see them, then they are not there. Be careful when you have to go outside, stay under the cloth over the box by the door. Don't let them know you're under there."

I am in the box with the boy who brought us there. In spite of my wishes, he makes light. I'm nervous. Everything becomes bright outside and I can see shadows interacting, oblivious to us; then they stop, stare, know we're there under the cloth; they come closer, all at once from everywhere. They're coming, three sides of shadows surrounding, bodies crawling closer; I'm madder than scared, with my anxiety; always afraid of the dark, til now.

The faces look at me, all at once; they're human, blank faces playing grenade games like sports, in the grass, in uniforms, as my mind prepares to negotiate.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

i deserve this

"wow. corporate indoctrination has been successful in your case. thank god we've saved you from your yearning for change. way to preach the status quo on yer other blog there sabra.

btw-- myspace was always this pathetic. im so terribly worried that youre right.

i think this when i go to client's luxury condos where the gay residence managers cook them obscure overpriced delicacies, and take the $14000 pair of house cats out for a stroll in a baby stroller. installing hideous museum paintings, then moving them a 1/2 inch up, cuz that's what the client would want. no, on second thought i think youre wrong.

im praying for the day this contraption weve become friends through blossoms into its birthright and the humanhivemind is no longer the stuff of scientific fairytales. forcible empathy would be neat-o.

and, like, youre hot and stuff, think ill whackit now."

This is from a friend. Real friends tell you when you are being an idiot; tell you to calm the frigs down. People who let themselves care about me get frustrated by me a lot, at first usually, until they realize I mean well, think too much, and am everywhere and all over the place like a disease. I'm sorry.

Friday, October 5, 2007


The last piece I wrote depressed the shit out of me, covertly, since at the time of it being birthed I was feeling a heavy sense of anxiety and didn't even understand why. In an attempt to gain a better understanding of the situation, I posted my idea on my myspace blog, which in the past has served greatly as a forum of discussion among people who like to think; even though lately, the only people who seem to even show interest anymore are pervy types who use girls like me as nothing more than masturbation fodder. So it comes to no surprise when points are overlooked for excuses to flirt, or to praise, as a way to force eye contact in a crowded room or whatever. Myspace has turned to shit, even though in it's peak, it was a great way to make friends who lived all over the place for me, a girl who felt like a prisoner of her environment, an alien in my surroundings, for most of my life in Tennessee.

Now, after some heavy thinking, I know exactly why I wrote what I did, thanks to hours of feeling whacked out and over analytically spewing my guts to friends I trust; friends who wouldn't make fun of me for being depressed over the dilemma which lies in what makes the concept of socialism appealing amidst the existential crisis that comes from being a consumer in a very materialistic society, wanting to do the right thing, but feeling helpless in a very competitive environment with too many options for spending within my conditioning of what is necessary to be a happy person.

I mean, WHAT THE FUCK, right? Talk about wanting to jump out of one's brain for a while.

A strong source of this is all of this socialist type ranting shit I've been reading, which is mostly really looking at negative aspects of an ideology which just likes to take big pisses on most things that make people happy in an attempt to focus on poverty. Fucking poverty and destitution everywhere! Look! Open your eyes and see how people suffer. Feel shame for having money, when others have nothing! Feel shame for having nice things when people are beaten by their parents and don't have anything nice to wear to school; hate people who earn more money than most people and buy nice things with that money; make them want to give their "extra" money to people who don't have skills to find decent jobs because they're mentally deranged or were doled out some bunk lottery ticket when they were born.

(Money: one letter away from 'monkey.' Coincidence? Yes!)

Guilt is shit. Guilt is what Christians have used for eons to convert people into mental slavery. Socialism and Christianity go hand in hand, and I have made the mistake of embracing too deeply a concept which is deeply flawed, whereas it is mainly used as an excuse for people to bitch about things which will never change. Huh, but that's the kind of attitude that prevents progress and equality..., bluh, bluh, fuck you, and fuck equality. There is no such thing-outside of an archaic governing principle in rudimentary mathematics. Look around!

Don't get me wrong. I know socialism and Christianity mean well. Nietzsche knew. I know; that focusing on and throwing in people's faces the shit of the world has a side effect. It makes average people want to shut off even more, or it depresses people who are helpless--as the rich, who have always been keen on getting richer, are getting richer, as they always have, as they always will, no matter how many depressed helpless peoples' peaces of mind we sacrifice in order to get some meaning well message across, the best bet seems to lie in setting a good example for other humans, and not in scrutinizing and obsessing over greedy shitmongers and the like who have the freedom to do as they please, as with the rest of the world. .

Wednesday, October 3, 2007


Something's happening. It's not drastic or anything, but it bothers me when I feel something new happening to my personality, and I don't quite know what it is yet. I'm 30, and pretty much supposed to be 'set,' right? In my ways, I mean. And what I don't get is the confusion of not wanting to become too nice; which has, since about ten years ago, always seemed like a weakness as a target for terribly manipulative people, being nice. And now, since I know I'm safe, I've let myself become happier, nicer, which feels good, for once. It's sad in a way, but not really, considering some real sad ass shit everywhere. Almost as if my sadness could never be anything less than pretentious anymore; and this what get's me to the point:
In a world of luxury purchases versus sustenance and happiness and consumerism, what is too much? What is just enough? Is it bad of me to throw a bill down for a designer tank top when another person's thrill is in Wii games or expensive trucks or golf hobbies, cocaine, pedicures, hot Brazilian bikini waxes, psychotherapy, box seats, box sets, 12-course dinners, Italian leather, yachts, jets, quality German Shepherd puppies, calf implants, Whole Foods' organic artichokes, Thai tapas, hookers, truffles, rare and numbered whatever, oil paintings, botox, Star Trek, samurai swords, classic ballroom dance lessons, orchids, or $300,000 Bentley convertible 2-door coupes with 6 speeds?
I look around my sparse apartment and think to myself, 'I am afraid of excess, I have no right when some people have nothing,' and then the other voice says, 'You are being an idiot, there are people who waste money much worse than you, you are doing fine, you don't even have cable tv or anything, you have less than twenty pairs of shoes.'
And then I read about Jews in concentration camps and don't wanna eat, but then I see someone homeless slumped against a building and think, 'I wonder if he would be offended if I offered him some candy, I mean, who doesn't like candy if they're not watching their weight, I'm sure he's not, I'm sure he has a rot gut taste in his mouth, and candy would be extra nice for someone like him.' See, I always have candy in my purse, but I rarely carry cash. I almost always end up giving it away too, to friends mostly, since I don't have much of sweet tooth.
I think I might know the source. It's socialist side of me arguing with the stark realist. I'm sure they're both rational, but one's more into examining the world in the context of love and hope, and the other's the opposite, with a pragmatic, more selfish attitude looking out for my self knowing that high expectations in others mostly always leads to failure, all cynicism aside.
The result is a sporadic feeling of wanting to abandon all my belongings and become a minimalist, giving everything away, only to get new things later, and the process begins again, but never ends, and rises in the east, and sets in the west, and I like to have nice things, and I work to earn money to buy them, and have money in my savings, and have an expensive car that I've bashed to pieces and kept in pieces on purpose and drink a bottle of wine a night, sometimes two, and my slender metallic blue telephone has a voice recording mechanism for optimum customized ring tone action. I have no right to be sad about anything anymore, and this makes me feel ridiculous.

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