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britney, 1, mom fucking son, momson sex, drunk driving conviction, literature, anger management, labor laws, company, eve, mature, female comedianne, lesbian rape,             "Come here, elephant," Michael whispered and kissed him. "You're not tired?"             "I don't want to sleep," Eli said. "I can sleep any other time."   III.             Her last evening in Israel, Becky pogrom sat on the couch in Sarah's living room and studied a cooking magazine. She didn't pogrom cook, but she might someday in pogrom that house in the suburbs she and Michael always joked about sharing. Alain, sunk into his brown leather easy chair, watched TV in Hebrew.             The two lovebirds had abandoned her as soon as they'd returned to Tel Aviv that morning. In Jerusalem, they'd become intolerable, inseparable.
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He couldn't imagine anything else.             "What about your parents?" Michael said.             Eli shuddered. "My father must never know about these things."             "I guess even if they knew you were gay, it wouldn't do us any good."             "I like your body." He stroked his cousin's chest. "Why are you not fat like so many American tourists, like, how do you say... Ôpeel'?" Eli blew up his cheeks, hung his drunk driving conviction arm from his nose, and made a noise like a trumpet.             "Elephant," Michael laughed.             "Yes, elephant."
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