Donna and Peg have another conversation whispering through an ancient glory hole carved through more than eight inches of solid concrete in a moist Cuban prison.
DONNA: I'll be 48. No, I'll be... 48. You see? It's math. I don't understand, or no: I'm not of this... fill in the blank.
PEG: You mean this... universe? Because they say math covers all of it.
DONNA: It could may be.
PEG: When you say could you are implying possibility and potential. Both of those concepts...
DONNA: I know, they depend on the known laws of physics and jehosa-factorization, bitch!
PEG: Whuh..?
DONNA: I am talking about being of a whole other plane or universe that's got it's own rules. It could have the metaphoric equivalent of one chromosome off where it's mostly the same but but not not.
PEG: Girl gimme some of dat whut choo smokin chile, gimme!
Phyllis (embedded)
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Limerick Ode To “National Short Person Day”
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