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07 January 2004: projectile kitsch! ugh!
I'm sick to death of my forty-one year old trophy wife of eight years,
although other men still salivate over her. I find little satisfaction in
the $22 million I've been able to bank, one way or the other, and I'm only
Fifty-four. Two grown kids in their twenties, boy and a girl, both
married. I'll be a grandfather soon-- ugh!
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