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Rupert, Pimp

My man was snoozing through the fog of the morning, ignoring the birds singing and the squirrels melting into furry puddles on the street.

But he popped up, stretched, gave a king of the jungle yawn, grabbed his pimp cane and was ready to roll.

Rupert had an extra layer of swagger, he wouldn’t let me call it a limp, that had had housewives screaming through their windows, No! It’s too sexy! Before melting into their own puddles.

Already feeling like 90 out, we only went as far as his poop spot; any farther, and we risked burning the neighborhood down. We kept his animal heat contained to the backyard after that.

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