When I was 14, I used to tweak my elders by bringing home an alternative weekly called the Real Paper. One Sunday, my maternal aunt Helen, a dear woman with a voice like Edith Bunker's, picked up the latest issue of the Real Paper and staring leafing through it.
"I DIG ENEMA THRILLS!" she suddenly screeched, quoting the heading for a personal ad. She was evidently shocked. Mission accomplished. . . .
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