a whore’s glow in his slumberous eyes

Today is Ed’s birthday. Happy birthday, Ed!

I did not have time to craft him up a birthday card in my usual nonsensical style, so I improvised: I gave him a filthy card and, borrowing heavily from James Joyce’s love letters to Nora, crammed it full of birthday greetings and early 20th century lyrical smut. I may not share Joyce’s passion for his lover’s farts – quite the opposite, really – but I wholeheartedly approve of the lusty nature of his correspondence and the graphic yet quaint descriptions of titty fucking and hand jobs.

I love you Ed, and not in the least because you let me do unspeakable things to you in the name of science!

yay ed!

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