According to the woman who overheard me, nothing. This was in response to a set of photos some guy took of his wife in the nip. And she wasn't even that hot. We were in the the Douglas Hyde gallery you see, because the Science Gallery was closed. There were paintings there too. One was of a girl shaking up tomato soup while taking a slash, (I couldn't take a picture), and another was of a girl smoking a cigarette and drowning at the same time.
Then Clikdikdikker went to go be cheeky to knacker thieves, and submissive, deferential and subservient to everyone else. I went to the library. Specifically, to the Berkeley Basement: that part of the library in which they fuck all the books they can't be arsed to categorize properly. I love finding entire books on very specific topics. To this end, I found tomes on
Which were beside manuals on how to stop your child from pissing and shitting everywhere:
And how to shoot down things:
By this time the library was nearly closed, and I needed to drop a deuce anyway. I found some last books, which may or may not have been instruction manuals:
And then I made sure that my stash was still safely in place:
And then I went home.
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