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on polymorphous perversity (cw for blood)
Bunnies drip from the ceiling and collapse into nubile pretzels. Their backs arch and their hips thrust. Whether they smile and laugh, or tighten their lips in meditation, or merely suffer, they all share the anaerobic daze of a scruffed mammal. When I see their twisted bodies, I think, horribly, Yummy.
Am I going to have to learn how to do a chest tie so you can relax? Jade says.
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