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I regret telling a nun to suck my balls. It was an accident. She pulled out right in front of me without looking, and I swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid a collision. There had been a light rain, I was going about 50 miles per hour, and I thought I was going to die. The life that flashed before me in that instant was not a life, but a scene: A team of burlesque dancers was there, bumper boat riding with a bunch of Sufi-type elder men in diapers dressed up like Papa Smurf. The men had white dreads and their leather skin was dyed blue.

The dancers wore nun habits and garter belts, and the Papa Smurfs pounded Everclear Jell-O shots, trying ineffectively to grab and lick the women. Also, Eddie Money's 1978 runaway hit "Baby Hold On" played. (It was literally playing on my car radio.) The bumper boats listlessly bounced off each other while the inebriated Sufi men groped and attempted to hump with quick, convulsive pelvic jabs. The burlesque nuns made "Eeeew" sounds, driving their inflated mini-boats while at the same time positioning their bodies into old-timey, classic, dame-like sex poses that balanced on the line between "okay for the kids to see" and "this is about dirty sex and involves positions such as the stogie-alfredo."

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