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Nicole

“Great artists must sacrifice for their JESUS OW,” says Iphigenia, jerking her hand away.

“I told you it would sting,” says Nicole. “And this is just disinfectant–you need a rabies shot.”

“They didn’t have rabies,” Iphigenia scowls. “They were just startled by the damn paparazzi.”

“You wore a gown made of live minks to an awards show. You didn’t anticipate some flash photography?”

“I’m sure we all take comfort in your perfect hindsight, Nicole.”

She sighs. “I said the same thing beforehand, so it’s foresight, actually. I also told you to wear panties.”

“What is this,” says Iphigenia, “a nunnery?”

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