My most intimate relationships are with fictional characters.
During the cruel winter of 1812, at an abandoned medical college in Lithuania, some of Napoleon’s starving soldiers dined on preserved human organs.
She liked cocaine. And gin. And men. And women. She smoked 100 cigarettes a day. She swore like a fucking sailor.
Nothing says Christmas like a pretty girl who HAS CLEARLY USED A STRAIGHT RAZOR TO FLENSE THE FACE FROM SANTA’S SKULL!