You and your proud working-
class ethos. You, sitting at your
laptop, spying on me on Facebook,
jerking your parts off. Go ahead
and pass on that shipment: you’ll
get a cut. You’re no beauty school
dropout, hanging around the corner
store. You need to know: when they
do make me into a rag-doll, you’ll
get one of the first batch. You can
wring me out, slam me down on your
linoleum floor, bite my head to your heart’s content.
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