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[P]
The Writer of Checks

By bamcquern in Fiction
Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 12:00:00 PM EST
Tags: etc (all tags)
/etc

There was a writer who found writing checks so odious that he stopped paying bills. He had always felt some supernatural bureaucratic aversion.


One year while filling out his W-2 his mouth began to taste coppery and he blacked out. He woke up and saw that his tax form had been graffitied like a typographical Mondrian. Not only did he find completing a check difficult, he also had trouble addressing envelopes, filling out customs forms and checking boxes on restaurant comment cards. Something about his signature made him wince when he signed credit card slips and during his twenties he cut up all of his credit cards.

The writer stopped writing checks. Instead he wrote erotic fiction and mailed it in the self-addressed envelopes that came with his bills. The writer liked licking stamps.

To the municipality that handled the watering of his home he wrote about a young Chilean girl who began a long sexual, spiritual and intellectual odyssey involving the Roman Catholic clergy and an ancient text written variously in Arabic and Greek, with Castilian and Latin annotations. Each month she participated in some particular perversion of an abbot, priest or bishop who, once spent, would reveal to her more about the secret history of the Christ. By September she had a nun protogé and a profound and unique understanding of Johannic irony.

To the electric company he wrote about a balding, dark-skinned man with a chirpy alto who shot a glue gun at his lover, making hot glue rings around her nipples and hot glue rays on her thighs. He glued her pudenda until her opening shut. She cried horrifically with pleasure.

The couple escalated their synthesis of crafting and sex. He built a birdhouse that fit her head like a helmet and was fond of saying, "My cock is coming home to roost!" They did the hunch leaning against a running band saw, jostling the machine until it tipped to the floor, screeching impotently. He would put her hips in a vice and, brandishing his tape ruler, live by the adage to measure twice, cut once, making tick marks on her body so he could precisely debauch them later.

During one very cold winter he wrote a happy ending to this story and began one about an adopted boy who hires a private detective to find his mother and then seduces her. While most of the state nursed on brandy and whiskey to keep warm, those working accounts receivable at the electric company made liberal use of the copy machine and nursed their desire for the mingling of unconditional love and bottomless sexual gratification (a few admittedly read the story for the verisimilitude of the procedural investigating depicted). The rates rose that year, but the writer was never mailed a collections notice.

For his mortgage lender he wrote the story of a brunette kidnapped, bound, gagged and suspended above a shallow ditch. The brunette's kidnapper aerated and fertilized the soil below her and built a trellis around her. He grew beans and tomatoes and other garden plants that bumped into her back as they grew and coiled around her limbs. He spread a skirt above the trellis to protect his plants and his brunette from the sun. A tube snaked through the yard and up the trellis and was inserted intravenously into the brunette's arm to feed her.

When the kidnapping horticulturist cut her from her suspension and binding she fell onto the garden, squishing blooms, fruits and vegetables. She bled through her skin in the places where she was bound. She choked on and spit out bile, crying herself blind. When she could see again, lying in her bed of greens, she managed to genuflect before her kidnapper and began kissing his fingers and thumbs, sucking at the soil in their ridges. The writer took a page to describe the strength and implication of the horticulturist's erection.

After a few months, the writer heard a knock on his door and greeted a man from the bank.

"I was touched by your story," the banker said.

"Thank you kindly," the writer replied and started to shut his door, feeling satisfied to have met a fan.

"I liked your story very much," the banker persisted, "I especially liked the paragraph in which you described how the coolness of the soil gave her goosebumps on her buttocks." His voice lowered, "And how she enriched the dirt by shitting on it, and the part about the 'chalky and barren stripe of dirt' where she peed. . . . But I must receive your payment for your mortgage. You are long overdue."

The writer explained his repulsion for check writing. He invited the banker inside and gave him a drink while the banker inquired further about the writer's problem. The banker arrived at the solution that he, the banker, would write the checks each month on behalf of the writer, and then he could take the checks to the bank on his way to work the next day.

"And your story, 'The Girl and the Gardener'?" the banker started timidly in the dining room.

"Yes?" said the writer.

The banker continued, "You can address future installments to my P.O. box."

The banker did not mention that he could have had the writer's mortgage payments wired automatically each month. Technology was progressing almost exponentially, and the writer could have written his stories on electronic word processors if he wanted to.

On the last Sunday of every month the banker would come by. When visiting, he would bring gifts such as expensive Scotch whiskey, dark chocolate from France or fruit from the farmer's market, which the two would consume with dinner before the writing of the check. For March he gave a bridle, for May a lacy bustier, for June studded bracers and for October latex garters. "They're inspiration," the banker mewed.

The writer should have known that the banker had fallen in love with him, but he was insensitive to the ways of love. The banker stopped at the writer's house on an evening when no mortgage payment was due.

"An irregular appearance!" the writer said amiably and slapped the banker's shoulder.

The banker croaked a syllable. Then he spoke: "I love you." His tone was that of a defeated Go master.

The writer told him curtly that he could not see him any more and shut the door. The banker became hysterical, trying to gain entry to the house by knocking on the doors and windows before giving up. He called the writer from his car's cellular phone. Then he called the writer from his condo.

By this time the bank's upper division managers were deep into the tale of a young man who salivated prodigiously. More than a man with a member of enormous girth and length, women desired this salivating man. He licked them and sucked them tirelessly: the wives of COOs, state representatives and Wall Street mavens. The young man sucked and licked his way into money and power, and the bank's upper division managers and their hard-ons arranged for the writer's mortgage payments to be reduced and paid by wire.

The story would have bored the banker.

The writer had his phone number changed and the banker started writing him love letters. Eventually the banker became tired of pining, and for a few years the love letters came on anniversaries only he remembered. During the decade after that the banker's heart allowed him three more letters until he finally divorced his wife and transferred to a San Franciscan branch.

One day the writer lay in the tub pulling out his pubic hairs one at a time and watched them float on the surface of the water. The phone mounted next to his toilet rang. He picked up the handset and the last ring of the bell reverberated off the tiles of the narrow bathroom walls.

At this time the writer was still receiving letters quite regularly from the banker.

He spoke into the mouthpiece. You can imagine what his voice sounded like, but mostly it just sounded like:

"Hello?"

A woman's voice asked him if he would like to take a survey about the current presidential candidates. She sounded like a soft-focus photograph, but she enunciated articulately and managed her timbre, pitch and volume evenly.

The writer delighted at being able to take a survey without checking boxes, and the pretty voice he heard caused his heart to palpitate. His erection popped out of the water covered in the moss of his own pubic hair.

The operator asked questions and transcribed the writer's answers. They flirted. She made a special note of his number on her call list and began to call him on Tuesday evenings, when her manager was not available to monitor her conversations with him.

Eventually the writer took a city bus to her call center and called out her name among the cubicles and their many phones. The operator rushed to finish her call and approached him.

"I cannot see you. You must leave."

"I'm in love with you."

"I can't talk about this. You must go," she pleaded.

He tried to memorize her face but became distracted by her hair. She waited with watery-eyed patience until he stopped staring at her hair and left the building.

That Tuesday she called. He answered from the kitchen.

"Good evening, sir. I'm conducting a survey on shaving products. Would you like to participate?"

"Genevieve! Be mine! I want to feed your throat honey," the writer exclaimed and stooped over the counter, looking abstractedly at a row of ants following the caulked edge.

"Thank you, sir. How many times a week do you shave?"

"I want you to read to me. I want to read to you. Please come here now. I can take care of you and we can lie in bed and find out what is in Bluebeard's closet."

There was a pause. Above the rumble of the call bank he thought he could hear her breath rubbing her larynx in a plaintive way. He wasn't sure.

"I assume you use a safety razor, sir. Do you use disposable razors or disposable blades, or is it possible you use a straight or electric razor?"

"Baby . . ." the writer said in a small voice, and then continued, "cut this nonsense out. Come to me and I'll show you what kind of razor I use. I'll shave your body, then you can shave my body."

The operator's voice sobbed and spoke: "If you're unsure I can give you an explanation of the different kinds of razors and their blades."

"I want to wash your hair," the writer cooed, "I want our bodies to squeak under the shower spray like two dolphins'."

"Thank you, sir. What brand of razor and blade do you buy?" she said. Her voice then was like a catamaran bobbing in a squall.

"I want the clean down above your lip to tickle my nostrils." The writer planted his elbows into the counter and lifted his knees onto it, a crumpled man beneath his cabinetry. He clutched the handset: "I want us to feel the sixth sense spark our skin only knows after shaving; the light after-shower numbness everywhere except for our genitals and our lips."

"How often," her sad voice warbled, "do you purchase new blades?"

"I'll write a bible for you," he whispered, "a whole bible all about you. I'm devout, baby."

"Finally, rating from one to four, with one being 'very disappointed' and—" she stopped and choked on her roiling phlegm, "four being 'very satisfied,' how do you feel about your razor brand?"

"Don't you love me?" He could hear her bawling. Her phone—held by a sweaty palm at the shoulder cradle attached to the handset—was somewhere between her ear and the hook when he heard her say:

"Thank you for your time, sir. Goodbye."

That month the phone company received a story instead of a check. The first page told the history of a boy who liked to masturbate in unusual places, such as the library, the Diary Queen drive-through and his mother and father's closet while they slept.

By the time he was seventeen he was masturbating into half-filled cigarette boxes and leaving these where a smoker would think he had found his fortune. Half the time the smoker would not notice the unusual taste of the filters.

On page three he went to men's clothing stores and masturbated into the pockets of suit jackets and pants.

At a park on page seven he came in the dew puddle collected at the bottom of a slide. He worried that the sun would burn his puddle away until a nine year old girl slid down the slide later that morning.

The local stadium where the minor league played rarely locked their open air press box. He bought tickets to a Triple-A game on page thirteen and leaned out the stucco window to rain a white ray of semen onto a few families in the bleacher seats below.

The phone company turned the writer's line off soon after.

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Display: Sort:
The Writer of Checks | 56 comments (36 topical, 20 editorial, 0 hidden)
+1 FP.../nt (1.16 / 6) (#2)
by terryfunk on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 02:19:23 AM EST



I like you, I'll kill you last. - Killer Clown
The ScuttledMonkey: A Story Collection

Sorry, didn't get it (2.42 / 7) (#7)
by tetsuwan on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 04:09:34 AM EST

Only Americans write checks.

Njal's Saga: Just like Romeo & Juliet without the romance

checks, an american phenonememeonenon? (none / 0) (#9)
by rhiannon on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 05:38:34 AM EST

I don't get it, people don't have checks anywhere else?

-----------------------------------------
I continued to rebuff the advances... so many advances... of so many attractive women. -MC
[ Parent ]
United Kingdom, perhaps (none / 1) (#10)
by tetsuwan on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 05:49:31 AM EST

It never caught on in Europe. Cash or card. Now it's all on the internet. Someone wrote that 'in the anglosaxian tradition personal credibilty (an straight face and steadfast handwriting) means a lot more in monetary matters than in the rest of the world.' We belive in numbers. 'Bouncing checks' isn't a topic here.

My dad actually had a check account once.

Njal's Saga: Just like Romeo & Juliet without the romance
[ Parent ]

In the UK we don't have checks (3.00 / 3) (#12)
by stuaart on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 06:10:38 AM EST

We have cheques.

You write them and someone can pay them into their bank account. Any amount as long as you can fit it in the little box. Crazy, paper money.

Linkwhore: [Hidden stories.] Baldrtainment: Corporate concubines and Baldrson: An Introspective


[ Parent ]
And we don't really have cheques much anymore (none / 1) (#13)
by rpjs on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 06:43:58 AM EST

When I don't pay in cash, I pay by debit card, standing order or direct debit. If I write more than a couple of cheques a year now, I'd be surprosed, and I think those tend to be for Indian takeaways when I'm short of physical cash as our local curry house won't take plastic for home deliveries. The US banking system seems so quaint and backwards compared to ours.

[ Parent ]
Cheques are useful (none / 0) (#14)
by stuaart on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 06:58:33 AM EST

for paying bills if you split them with housemates (as I do) as well as transferring money to other people in a quick and easy fashion (e.g., I owe you £25, I'll write a cheque because it's easier than going to a cash machine which requires a special trip).

Linkwhore: [Hidden stories.] Baldrtainment: Corporate concubines and Baldrson: An Introspective


[ Parent ]
Yeah, that's about it. (none / 0) (#17)
by tetsuwan on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 07:58:37 AM EST


Njal's Saga: Just like Romeo & Juliet without the romance
[ Parent ]

The net is nice. (none / 0) (#55)
by fbjon on Thu Mar 02, 2006 at 04:26:20 AM EST

I like transferring the money directly to his account using any available and connected computer, which saves us all from trips and hassle.

[ Parent ]
Same here (none / 0) (#34)
by livus on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 06:49:56 PM EST

and our debit cards (eftpos) requie a pin not a sig, so they seem safer than anything else.

I mostly use cheques for things like the tax department.

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]

BWAHAHAHAHAHA (none / 0) (#52)
by Insoc on Sun Feb 26, 2006 at 09:56:25 PM EST

Specifically, this comment: "The US banking system seems so quaint and backwards compared to ours."

Having lived on both sides of the pond, I think I'm qualified to judge best here. At least in the US, when you start an account, you start it on THAT DAY. Here you're lucky if you actually get to deposit money within 3 weeks. And your bank cards? Those come 1-2 months later, compared to roughly 2 weeks in the US.

[ Parent ]

Ha-ha? (none / 0) (#54)
by fbjon on Thu Mar 02, 2006 at 04:23:58 AM EST

Then you found another backward system.

Where I come from (east side of the pond, north end) a foreigner can open an account, put in money, get a Visa Electron debit card with an e-cash chip inluded (mailed to you in 1-2 weeks), and secure codes for internet access in about 15 minutes. And if you're young/a student, with virtually no fees either.

[ Parent ]

cheques are very rarely used in Aus. (none / 1) (#42)
by fleece on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 01:24:09 AM EST

in American films, you'll sometimes see people pay in a store or supermarket with a cheque. I've never seen that happen in real life.

I don't even have a cheque book. The main reason a person would use one here is to pay tradesmen.



I feel like some drunken crazed lunatic trying to outguess a cat ~ Louis Winthorpe III
[ Parent ]
still used in Brazil, but slowly phasing out (none / 0) (#43)
by LodeRunner on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 01:47:23 AM EST

Personal checks are still used a lot in Brazil. Most places accept them, but often with caveats, such as accepting only checks from the same city, and they request additional information such as a phone number to have a direct contact in case the check bounces.

Credit cards only started to become popular in the 90s after the hyperinflation period ended. From the late 90s on, debit cards started to catch on. Myself, I never used checks in Brazil, only debit cards -- they're accepted mostly everywhere by now, perhaps even more than checks at this point (and without the caveats). The only times I used personal checks was in the US.

---
"dude, you can't even spell your own name" -- Lode Runner
[ Parent ]

Bullshit (none / 0) (#11)
by curien on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 05:56:17 AM EST

I pay my German bills using checks all the time. The only difference is that they send me a check with the bill (with their information pre-filled) so I don't have to get them from the bank in advance, and I take them to the bank or post office instead of mailing it.

Germans don't have personal checks (to my knowledge), but there's nothing in this story that precludes him using German style draft orders.

--
We are not the same. I'm an American, and you're a sick asshole.
[ Parent ]

I wouldn't call that a check (none / 0) (#16)
by tetsuwan on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 07:56:37 AM EST

but hey, maybe I am just confusing the the term 'check' (Swedish for personal check) and faktura (bill or invoice). Maybe the latter sometime's called 'check' too? And the bill comes with an ''einzahlungsschein' which I again wouldn't call a check.

Njal's Saga: Just like Romeo & Juliet without the romance
[ Parent ]

Checks vs payment slips (3.00 / 2) (#21)
by curien on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 10:27:54 AM EST

In US parlance, a "bill" or "invoice" is just a list of charges. Anything that you use to actually draft money from an account is called a "check" (in fact, "check" and "bank draft" are nearly synonymous). And checks aren't necessarily personal checks. For example, you can go to a bank and get a "cashier's check". Before employers had direct deposit available, many of them distributed payroll checks on payday.

In the common usage, though, you're right that "check" is usually synonymous with "personal check", and so if you walked up to an average American and showed them a German "payment slip" (my bank's translation), they probably wouldn't think it's a check. OTOH, if you showed them a 50 euro bill, they'd probably think it's play money, so I don't know how much that counts for.

The only real difference between the payment slip and a personal check is that a payment slip is made payable to a particular person and bank account, whereas a check is made payable to a particular person.

As for topicality, my assertion was that the aspect of paying bills by filling out a form is not Anglo-centric, and I think I've established my point.

--
We are not the same. I'm an American, and you're a sick asshole.
[ Parent ]

Check / Cheque (none / 0) (#47)
by alby on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 07:26:46 AM EST

Was what I believe the parent poster may have been referring to.

--
Alby
[ Parent ]

I voted -1 (1.25 / 4) (#15)
by alphaxer0 on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 07:50:30 AM EST

I thought it was good, but feared a +1 being used against me in my presidential campaign in 2020

And now the -1 will be used against the campaign (1.50 / 2) (#23)
by MrHanky on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 01:30:48 PM EST

It's funny how politicians, when being confronted with two options that will be used against them, one good and one evil, will always choose evil.

VOTE +1FP, YOU FUCKING METROSEXUAL MAGGOTS!


"This was great, because it was a bunch of mature players who were able to express themselves and talk politics." Lettuce B-Free, on being a total fucking moron for Ron Paul.
[ Parent ]

+1FP personal policy (1.50 / 4) (#27)
by Smiley K on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 04:13:50 PM EST

All Fiction gets my +1FP without me even reading the submission until the k5 fiction snobs chill out.
-- Someone set up us the bomb.
Please can someone who was going to -1 (2.00 / 2) (#35)
by livus on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 06:52:24 PM EST

switch up to 0 for me, as I accidentally -1ed this. Damn wheel mouse.

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

I was waiting for your vote almost exclusively. (none / 1) (#36)
by bamcquern on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 06:58:26 PM EST



[ Parent ]
Why don't I believe you? (none / 0) (#37)
by livus on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 07:08:51 PM EST

I think I missed this in edit. It's sort of magic realism meets Alberto Moravia.

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]
I know why you don't believe me. (none / 1) (#38)
by bamcquern on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 07:31:51 PM EST

I get this disbelief all the time when I'm perfectly sincere. I think I've had relationships go to pot over these misunderstandings.

Sincerity is the new irony, so much so that it's passé now. And passéism has become obsolete, have you noticed? Fifth Ave. is squashing it.

My ex-girlfriend is on the phone talking to me about the Buzzcocks song "Orgasm Addict."

I respect you and pay attention to your posts.

[ Parent ]

sure, (none / 0) (#41)
by livus on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 10:21:29 PM EST

irony is a way of recycling concepts. Okay, I will try to never let our relationship go to pot.

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]
done (3.00 / 2) (#45)
by zombie HollyHopDrive on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 06:24:54 AM EST

I used the zombie dupe. except i +1 sectioned it; it's better than you first thought (good use of the semicolon there by fleece, don't you think?)



[He blew]inside..m..e.. [and verily] corrected a deviated septum and cauterized my turbinates. - MichaelCrawford
[ Parent ]
Thanks, perfect (none / 0) (#50)
by livus on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 05:24:11 PM EST

yeah I would have 1d it if I'd been more awake.

Excellent semicolon use, I thought!

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]

i loved it (none / 1) (#39)
by horny smurf on Fri Feb 24, 2006 at 09:49:31 PM EST

and I think it's a shame that it's languishing as it is (currently +9 with 140 votes).

One comment - While I was reading it, I expected it to end at this punchline:

"You can address future installments to my P.O. box."

After that point, it sort of lost its focus, moving on to the bankers obsession with the writer, then the writer's obsession with the phone girl.



Thank you. (none / 1) (#49)
by bamcquern on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 01:50:18 PM EST

I agree, the story is structurally inelegant, but I kind of think that with the banker's obsession and the writer's obsession the story focused from the formless lark it was.

I don't know. It's so tonally undisciplined that it could be read with many impressions.

[ Parent ]

Yeah (none / 1) (#51)
by livus on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 05:26:24 PM EST

the lack of focus towards the end was my one problem with it too - something that fanciful can't really be left to drift. But the tone is just fine.

---
HIREZ substitute.
be concrete asshole, or shut up. - CTS
I guess I skipped school or something to drink on the internet? - lonelyhobo
I'd like to hope that any impression you got about us from internet forums was incorrect. - debillitatus
I consider myself trolled more or less just by visiting the site. HollyHopDrive

[ Parent ]
My god. (3.00 / 2) (#44)
by Kasreyn on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 04:58:53 AM EST

That is the most inspired piece of gorgeous, depraved filth I've ever read.

My hat is off to you. It'll of course be dumped no matter what I do, but rest assured that a copy will live forever on my PC. Or at least until my hard disk dies.

The writer took a page to describe the strength and implication of the horticulturist's erection.

Genius.


"Extenuating circumstance to be mentioned on Judgement Day:
We never asked to be born in the first place."

R.I.P. Kurt. You will be missed.
hillarious (none / 0) (#46)
by CAIMLAS on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 07:03:08 AM EST

I found this quite hillarious. The writing style reminds me of Douglas Adams a bit, albeit a Douglas Adams with a sick sense of humor. Coincidence? :P

Also, the sentiments of the female telemarketer were unclear to me. Could you tell me whether she was fond or unfond of him?
--

Socialism and communism better explained by a psychologist than a political theorist.

I've never read Douglas Adams, (none / 0) (#48)
by bamcquern on Sat Feb 25, 2006 at 01:36:45 PM EST

but I've been on the look-out in used book stores for the first book in Hitchhiker's series.

I wish I knew how the telemarketer felt, too. Someone who's been through this, maybe, could give a few possible answers as to what she's feeling, but I could only imagine how she behaved. I need more life experience.

(She probably loved him.)

I've been combing my hair with a toothpick for the last three days and my barber is off. I'll have to visit the supermarket.

[ Parent ]

stunning! (none / 0) (#53)
by RevLoveJoy on Wed Mar 01, 2006 at 01:00:03 AM EST

I am sorry I missed this in the queue.

The implication that all companies are staffed with human beings save telcos has made my week.

Cheers,
-- RLJ

Every political force in the U.S. that seeks to get past the Constitution by sophistry or technicality is little more than a wannabe king. -- pyro9

sounds like an asshole $ (none / 0) (#56)
by sucka on Sun Mar 12, 2006 at 09:47:29 PM EST



The Writer of Checks | 56 comments (36 topical, 20 editorial, 0 hidden)
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