Rumor has it your girlfriend is here, kid.
Check by the bed, I left a box of condoms for you there (though I only keep Magnums. You could try a rubber band or hell maybe even the rhythm method if you're feeling lucky though, yeah?). I got some Barry White albums, and there's whipped cream in the fridge.
No need to thank me, man. Just looking out for you, since you could be my son and all. Your age fits way too fuckin' well for comfort after all, and come on, no one with half a brain cell can argue against a resemblance. Fuck if it doesn't weird my shit out, too.
Goddamnit, now I need to go scope out a bench for the night. Actually, might crash Vergil's place on second thought. Nero, don't blow this. And for the love of god wash the sheets.
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Someone will die for this.