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After a day of conducting these intellectual tours of your works I end up locked in my office with my trousers and boxers around my ankles, masturbating furiously to a slide-show of your photographic exhibits. I grunt and moan as I observe all the details of your genitalia. Eventually I let out a roar of pleasurable release that can be heard around the gallery, as ai shoot my lad onto the floor of my office. The joy I get from your work is the reason why I’m good at presenting it to others.