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umberto eco

Umberto. Mr. Eco. No wait, Dr. Eco. Yeah, his mom always liked it when she heard that. Too bad she wasn't around for this round. Or maybe it wasn't bad. After all, to every season, turn and burn. Umberto paused and looked for something to mop his glistening brow. It didn't used to be like this. The weather or his head. But these aren't like old times. They're barely midevil times.

"Dr. Eco, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Sally Gredenko. But my friend's call me Giselle. Well, when they're stuffing dollar bills down my pants."

"Ms. Gredenko, I'll ask you again to stop with the risque entendres and delightful recusement. I need a pen.Do you happen to have one stuff down your pants?"

Umberto was feeling at once emboldened and languid. It was more than he could bear, given his delicate state of affairs. As if that were the only issue at play. No, this was about something much more visceral. Like a gut-shot fawn, he fell backwards and stared at the ceiling, gurgling imperceptibly and huffing like a made man.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on December 23, 2007 10:39 PM.

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