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As you stare at the perfect twin dopplegangers before you, a sudden
realization smashes you over the head like a spiked club in the burly
hands of an indiscriminate caveman. You love yoursel(f)(ves), the
elegance and quiet dignity yous display, the aquiline features, the noble
bearing and modest yet fashionable wardrobe. "What the hell are you starin' at? Take a picture, it'll last longer," snarls one of the yous, while the other one just blushes and turns away coyly.
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8/7/2007 9:17:03 PM
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