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| wylde, free us code, 2 pac, there goes the neighborhood, music cd production, landgrant review, adam goldberg, insult, marissa ribisi, holocaust denial, mos def, gang related, cole hauser, hip hop, marthawainwright, splash, r.d. reid, donal sutherland, literary salons, real audio, | We were reaching speeds of 40, 50, 60 miles an hour, careening down that bone-straight road like a slot car, with a muffled scream of "Stop!" jake gyllenhaal from the back, but I just kept going, slippery and free and untouchable as a little ball of mercury. I could see our friends growing smaller and smaller in my rearview. They were jumping up and down and I thought I jake gyllenhaal could hear them hooting jake gyllenhaal and hollering at this crazy chick racing madly down the road with some guy she just met hanging from the back of her car. What was she doing? What did she want? Was he supposed to fall off? Get mangled? Die? Would she be hauled in for vehicular homicide? Murder in the second degree? |
Best Mature Paysites
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| I insult was the proverbial sucker for his sad-sacked eyes, his superlative Mick Jagger impressions, and the way he simply walked into the room. He was tall and lean and ran like a jock but he wasn't a jock. And though it may be a very unPC thing to say, he had an ass like a black guy: that slightly protruding curve at the top, the delicate swoop out and around, insult full and firm and circular. He kissed in that strenuous, far-reaching, all-consuming kind of way, the kind of way insult that made you feel like if he couldn't keep kissing you forever and ever that he'd rip out his tongue and throw it on the ground and pound it flat with a shovel. Erik and I were a whirlwind from the getgo. It was early September at our crunchy college in the middle of Ohio and it was like already everybody was antsy. I can't honestly say how he ended up hanging off the back of my old station wagon, feet on the bumper, hands gripping something grippable on the back door, with me, wide-eyed and sweaty in the driver's seat, hands white-knuckling the wheel, my foot pressing down on the gas just a little harder by the second. |
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