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You are the prince of darkness Arch enemy, father of evil Hell born, demonic, savage, fierce, viscious, wild Tameless, barbaric, uncontrollabe, obstinate beast [Verse One:] Horny little monkey, you gotta back up Horny little monkey, you can't bust a nut Lookin at my girlfriend's white skin You wanna jump in, but she don't like black men So don't throw that work you fuckin jerk Or get your punk monkey ass hurt motherfucker She ain't with the dark face Cause y'all fuck at a snail's pace And you might get sprayed with mace By the Aryan So when she's doing her job you better let her be Don't try to pinch the gluterus Thinkin that you about to knock out the uterus Cause she'll tell you to kiss her ass quick And where I'm from, monkeys get their ass kicked Mr.

I haven't had sex in over a year, and the trek through my personal Mojave Desert has been both enlightening and frustrating (for obvious reasons). It all started in late 2015, when a hot guy in one of my friend’s Instagrams made me stop mid-scroll.

I couldn’t hold up the façade with our situation for long, though, and my DM Casanova became the catalyst for making a much deeper lifestyle change.

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A mysterious man (Jack Nicholson) arrives in town and stirs up trouble by buying the town's landmark property: the Lennox Mansion.

The arrival of this enigmatic stranger fascinates the townsfolk, all except for Felicia Alden (Veronica Cartwright), the devoutly religious wife of newspaper editor Clyde Alden (Richard Jenkins), Sukie's boss.

Instead of making peace with that and letting it go, I acted like I was fine with his disclaimer because the chemistry between us was too strong to ignore (and, let’s be real, I was in denial). I kept trying to tell myself that I was cool with having sex with a guy who didn't want to be my boyfriend.

I was cool with knowing that he was talking to other girls.

The only place you’re going to find the type of speed I like to do is at a gay bar at six in the morning. It’s the only dudes with the international wealth and connections to move the shit that they want.” I have no idea if any of this is true, but I’m 1,000 percent sure that choosing to believe Hughes when he’s seated next to me is a good idea.

Hughes speaks with an authority that tends to intimidate. I find this refreshing, if also a little overwhelming.

(“I love him, and if I’m gonna drop him on the ground I wanna look at him,” Hughes says.) The mustache makes him instantly recognizable — outside of the club, where I met Hughes as he hunted for marijuana and smokes, fans swiftly mobbed him.

“When we go on tour, there’s really no practical way to maintain the habit I have, because it’s a decadent one,” Hughes explains.

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