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“Where are you going,” asked Cynthia Ford.Her husband of twenty years, Mike, yelled, “Out!”“It’s 10:30. Why are you going out?”“Cause I need to get some ass.”“What,” she cried out.“Yeah! You don’t be giving up the pussy and I got a hot li’l faggot that’s ready.”“Fuck you,” she screamed.“Whatever, bitch!”The six-foot-two-inch, two-hundred-ten-pound, caramel-skinned dude walked out of the house.His wife went to the fridge and extracted a bottle of gin. She opened it up and drank it straight. She...