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*realizing I've been tagged, I reach out to somebody getting up from the pile and manage to wrap my arms around a thigh.
As the oiled leg begins to slide from my grasp, I look up to see angel's face as she tries to escape. And just before my hands slide off that beautiful leg, I utter the words, "Tag, you're it."
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Aside from my great plans to become the future dictator of the moon, I have little interest in political discussions.
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