Yours In LipZippetyUppedness

We’re riding high on sleep deprivation and vintage Fleetwood Mac and watching The National Madness slide by while nightcallers ring us up and whisper: “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Those unlucky enough to know us well know we’re loquacious with just a hint of cocksure garrulousness thrown in – traits bestowed since the day…

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