Wait, Chinese twin virtuosos? Fifteen whole minutes of monotonous face-to-face interaction? The very fabric of my nightmares.

I'll be clear: whenever our terrors multiply, I don't need you to whip (kinky word) the gap in my kneecaps; I need you to stir me up into a furious gallop, wild-west-bank-robbery-horse-chase-scene fashion, with a thundering and a yelling, lifting enough dirt and dust as so nobody witnesses our escape.

But anyway. After a refreshing night's sleep, I'm feeling somewhat curious about one of those versions of yourself you keep in the Twitter-verse, particularly version nº 9488936459 (for obvious reasons). I wonder what she's thinking now.