#clem opens.

"Sometimes I go online and I harass conservatives who think they're being gangstalked. I send them pictures of their house and they go on tirades and I'm going to keep doing that, sorry."

"My weird space cat keeps burning holes in my clothes."

"Man, the horny cooking men are fucking weird. Straight women are crazy, that's nothing. That's fucking gross."

"Wait, so -- god damn it, don't fucking make fun of me for not being aware. Like, obviously, yes, everything can be a kink, but I just didn't consider the possibility of manspreading being one. Like, what's the -- whatever."

She was drenched from head to toe in blood, ash, and sweat. Clementine's hair stuck to her forehead and she looked smaller than usual. Though there was no fear in her eyes, there was an anxious desperation. It was hard for her to stand, let alone speak, but she was trying her best.

"I'm not going to lie to you: if I didn't fuck my leg, I would've had to leave ballet anyway because, not to brag, my shit's insane. I mean, tits and ass? What don't I have?"

“I’m smoking that shit that made Will Ferrell.”

"I don't think a dick should be the size of a wine bottle, I'm sorry. That's not -- that's nothing. That's not even fun, that's a chore."