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You write beautiful hysterical tragedies

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You are not concealed. The mystical pig's third eye sees all.

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"I look on in horror as blinding lightening lights up the crevices of your smooth, silky, twink body—dramatically spotlighting just how menacing and intimidating your hint of penis has truly become. I swallow hard knowing I've created something that no force of nature could possibly wield or contain. You continue to laugh maniacally as the storm closes in on us—a feverish, hysterical laugh—a laugh that will no doubt haunt me when I, too, am long ago an island in dishonoured grass whom none but daisies know."

The above is an excerpt from the first of a collection of short stories I am compiling into a book titled "Baby-Dick Beautiful." I'm currently looking for a publisher. If you know of a good one, Guppy, send the info my way.

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Your writing - as far as one can judge from a paragraph's worth - is cholerically overstuffed, and would benefit from draconian editorialising. The average reader's frail constitution can only bear so many tawdry adjectives.

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