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The alto singer in the choir was in a pickle. Her economics teacher was screaming at her from across the stage. What he was doing in the middle of the choir concert was inconcievable in the first place. His voice seemed to isolate her in what felt like a vertical column of warm soup, similar to what her insides felt like inside her stomach. Sadness replaced that sensation as it welled up inside of her, and finally she screamed "What on earth do you have against the anti-air breathing society?!"
True sadness is being isolated when you really want to discuss economics with an alto while getting a verticle bj.
Hey bro. Stop trying to get me to do that horizontal mambo. Any fool can see it is in my best interests to remain vertical. And I don’t mean I want to “do it” standing up either. You just want to use me for sex, and to do your “Economics” homework. You are such a worm. I wish I could isolate you in a vat of formaldehyde in Biology Lab, so you wouldn’t be free to hassle other girls. I feel no sadness at all when I say, stop calling me. Alto! Alto! Alto! (That means “stop” in Spanish.) Ramona
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