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To symbolize the randomness and disorientation of lust, the pop-ups will keep coming one after the other and they’ll be the kind you can’t X out because when you click the X, you only open another ad. Forever and ever, for all eternity until you drown in computer porn viruses.
In a flash, it’s six hours later and I know the words to all of One Direction’s songs and I hate Finchel and I think bowties are cool and I want Sherlock to shag the bejesus out of John Watson. I look out my window at the people having fun on the city streets and I pity them.