Two friends dream of leaving their stifling, small Australian fishing village, where a local priest with a secret, grisly past exerts cult-like control. By the author of Strange Objects. This description may be from another edition of this product.
I was aloft one day in the park while a naked indian rubbed my inner thighs as i began to recite a poem by Wilfred Owens. The naked indian or Mr. Anthony as i called him when i was younger, began to cry un controllably as i read verse after verse. I removed my shoes and started to clobber Mr. Anthony to death with them. He died a noble death fightin for his country and making butterscotch with only his short and curlies and left nipple. The End. I love you.
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