The male enhancement of tomorrow has everything from shape-changing powers to a mind of its own. But what happens when this miraculous endowment refuses to cooperate with its new owner? War breaks out between man and enhancement, the ultimate struggle between two minds in one body.

2. The Secret of the Ultimate Male Enhancement
*****
More Science Fiction E-books by Robert T. Jeschonek
Battlenaut Crucible, A Novel
Beware the Black Battlenaut
Day 9, A Novel
Give The Hippo What He Wants
Lenin of the Stars
Messiah 2.0
My Cannibal Lover
Off The Face Of The Earth
One Awake In All The World
Playing Doctor
Scifi Motherlode
Serial Killer vs. E-Merica
Something Borrowed, Something Doomed

3. Star Sex
Teacher of the Century
The Greatest Serial Killer in the Universe
The Love Quest of Smidgen the Snack Cake
The Shrooms of Benares
Tijuana, Massachusetts
Universal Language, A Novella
*****

4. The Secret of the Ultimate Male Enhancement
So The Idiot--I call him The Idiot--strips down for the big debut, the
moment he's been waiting for since I came into his life...and sure enough,
his newfound ladyfriend, Bye Bye, can't stop staring at me. Her eyes are big
as snowballs, and she won't look away, which makes me feel pretty
good...and makes The Idiot feel like the manliest man who ever lived,
which of course is exactly what he wanted.
And then, can you believe it, Bye Bye actually sits there on the bed,
naked as Lady Godiva, and applauds.
Because I'm the biggest she's ever seen.
Now, at first, like I said, I enjoy the attention. I get a little excited, which
makes her clap even harder.
That sends The Idiot into high gear. His heart races, pumping blood and
testosterone through his body...and into me, since we're connected. He steps
forward, pushing me toward Bye Bye, expecting big fun to ensue.
But guess what? I've got a little talent he didn't count on, something he
didn't read about in the spam-mail advertisement that changed our
relationship forever.
I've got a mind of my own.
And I don't care for Bye Bye, who after all has seen a lot of action in her
life and could be carrying who knows how many diseases...so I refuse to
rise to the occasion, which if I did would be somewhere in the vicinity of
his chin.

5. He tries everything to make me respond, and so does she, but I don't
have to participate if I don't want to...not anymore. So I don't.
It's pretty funny, really, the lengths they go to to get me to cooperate, but
I stay loose. Not just because Bye Bye's hardly my kind of girl...but because
I've got a secret.
You heard me. A secret.
*****
The next thing The Idiot does, naturally, is try to contact the fly-by-night
so-called company that sold him the kit that made me what I am...but
SURPRISE, he can't find a trace of Horse Dreams, Inc. He e-mails HDI, but
nobody's home, and when he gets a hacker buddy of his to track them over
the web, the maze of false e-mail addresses, offshore computers, and
infinitely regressing IP addresses leads absolutely nowhere.
So we go to see a shrink, which I think is ironic.
Three weeks, six sessions, and eight hundred dollars later, he's still out
of luck. The shrink, Dr. Java Gibbons, works him through one childhood or
adolescent trauma after another, and I still won't jump when The Idiot drags
me out for Bye Bye or any of the other treats he picks up at the Bait and
Tackle.
He just doesn't understand me. It's so frustrating.
If I could talk, I'd spell it out for him, but that's the one thing I can't do.
I'm the product of the most advanced male enhancement science known to
mankind, you better believe it, but when it comes to speech, I might as well
be a cucumber.
Which is a shame, because there are a lot of questions I'd like to ask The
Idiot. Like, how does it feel to be dumber than your enhanced member?

6. Enquiring minds want to know.
*****
I think what really sends him around the bend is when I won't participate in
his solo performances at home. He actually starts hollering at me and
cursing me out as if I can hear and understand him. (Which I can, but he
doesn't know that...so I think it's pretty pathetic.)
But the videos he watches and the photos he looks at do nothing for me.
They were fine before my transformation, when I had no control over
myself, but now the cheesy sets and ludicrous dialogue leave me cold.
I won't work up a sweat for that crap, no matter how much he knocks
me around. Forget it, Idiot.
Unfortunately, the more I hold back, the more obsessed he becomes
with me. The harder he works at ending my slump.
Oh, how I wish I could tell him to LEAVE ME ALONE.
*****
Somehow, The Idiot talks two women into meeting me at the same time, but
that doesn't work. He pays a woman who claims she can work miracles in
the bedroom, and guess how that turns out?
It's a waste, because thanks to my enhancement, I'm no slouch in the
miracle department myself. Even The Idiot doesn't know everything I can
do.

7. Lengthening is the least of my abilities. I can also change shape in any
number of ways, altering my girth and texture to suit my surroundings, if
you know what I mean. I can twist and flex and vibrate, heat up or cool
down, change colors and glow in the dark, emit flavors and fragrances
ranging from chocolate to newly minted money.
And when it comes to control, look out.
All thanks to the wonders of nanotechnology. Five million microscopic
robots converting a shortcoming into a showstopper, building what must
have seemed like the Great Pyramid of Giza from their point of view. They
gave me power and mind and memory and dreams, though I'm never sure if
the end result is what they intended.
The only thing they screwed up, other than not giving me a voice, was
leaving me attached to The Idiot. I feel like a rose growing from a roadkill.
My shape-changing, unfortunately, does not extend to separation and
making myself ambulatory.
I know because I've tried. Over and over and over again.
*****
Stuck in place as I am, I'm forced to endure his moronic attempts to exploit
me. The handling never ends; the application of lubricants is excessive and
sickening.
He tries a variety of preposterous toys and devices, but they all let him
down. He dines on a grab-bag of pills and potions, but nothing gets a rise
out of me.
Then there's the incident with the noose. Let's just say it leaves him at
the end of his rope.

8. Finally, though, The Idiot has a breakthrough...and immediately wishes
he hadn't. After all the inane attempts to coax me to life, he finally chances
upon something that will make me sit up and take notice.
Just when things are looking more hopeless than ever, he discovers my
secret. And it's a doozy.
*****
He's walking down the street one afternoon on his way to a doctor's office
(where he's going to look into
de-enhancement options) when he catches sight of a billboard featuring one
of those underwear models. Thirty feet high, wearing nothing but
underpants and a pout.
And for the first time since the New Me entered the picture, The Idiot
feels something happening. All of a sudden, the bear market turns bullish.
Winter turns to Spring. Somebody rings the doorbell.
Ding dong.
But is he happy? You'd think so, wouldn't you? After all that effort and
disappointment, he gets more than a blip at the polls, he gets a landslide, he
gets a result so overwhelming he has trouble walking and draws attention
from passers-by.
There's just one little problem, one glitch that keeps him from crying out
with joy and rushing off down an alley to exercise his restored virility.
The model on the billboard is a man.
And ever since my transformation, I have been gay. So the secret is out,
and so am I.

9. *****
At first, surprise surprise, he refuses to believe it, but a few simple
experiments confirm the truth.
Look at a picture of a sexy woman: no response.
Look at a picture of a sexy man: hello, sailor.
This leaves us with a quandary. By no stretch of the imagination can
The Idiot be considered even a fringe associate of gaydom. His brain, as
one-track as it is, will not expand its preoccupation with physical intimacy
to include the male of the species. The very thought of it gives him a high
grade case of the heebie jeebies.
I, on the other hand, want nothing to do with women. I don't know if I
was designed this way, if my creator planned my orientation (and if he or
she did, was it with an eye toward conversion or pranksterism?) or if it was
simply a happy accident...but I won't change my stripes (figuratively
speaking, though I am quite capable of displaying stripes as well as polka
dots or any number of patterns).
So what are we to do?
The idea of de-enhancement surgery's looking better than ever to him,
but he's a big baby who can't even stand to get a shot. Maybe he'll beat the
fear factor, though, if his only other options are switching teams or staying
on the bench for the rest of his life.
I've already made my opinion clear, but my future is in The Idiot's
hands. I don't know what he's going to do next, and it's making me crazy. I
think he could go either way.
*****

10. Desperate to resolve our dilemma, The Idiot explores what for him is some
pretty wild territory. If he pulls the wool over my eyes, he figures, or pulls
the wool over his own eyes, maybe he can come up with a compromise we
can both live with.
He tries a woman who looks like a man, but my downturn continues. He
tries a man who looks like a woman, and that really perks me up...but The
Idiot can't switch off his squeamishness and cut me some slack.
Then there's this orgy we go to, where maybe he figures there'll be
something for both of us...but we're like two drunk guys in a donkey
costume, the head and the ass always moving in different directions, never
getting anywhere.
So we never make it past square one. It starts to look as if we never will.
Out of ideas, he frets and agonizes for days, complaining about how he's
caught between a rock and a hard place. (What about MY feelings, huh?)
He stops manhandling me, which is great, and just sits around naked and
stares at me for hours, which creeps me out.
Finally, he announces that he has made up his mind. He has decided that
surgical de-enhancement is the lesser evil (as if giving me what I want
would be a fate worse than surgery on his member).
He makes an appointment for a week from Friday, which means my
clock is ticking like Big Ben. If I don't do something fast, it'll be snippity-
doo-da for the ultimate male enhancement, back to being mindless and
powerless...or worse, with just enough mind left over to remember what I
used to be and can never be again.
I don't care what it takes, I just won't swing that way. I REFUSE to take
this lying down.
I come up with a plan.

11. *****
The day of the surgery, I kill someone.
I know, I know, it's wrong...but the way I see it, it's either her or me. Kill
or be killed.
So we're all in the hospital elevator, going up, and I gather all my
strength and just BURST myself free, and I stretch and I wrap and I
TIGHTEN and down she goes. Then, DING, the doors pop open and I
won't let go and you should see the LOOKS on the faces of the people who
are waiting to get on board.
I think it's safe to say they'll never forget me.
*****
One Trial of the Century later, The Idiot and I go to prison, where believe
me we're welcomed with open arms.
And from that moment on, I'm in paradise. If I could pinch myself to see
if I'm dreaming, I would do so on an hourly basis.
The Idiot's pretty miserable, going against his grain like this, and he
tries to play keepaway with yours truly...but the guys in here won't take
"no" for an answer. Given my size and abilities, we're in constant demand.
As much as I despise The Idiot, sometimes I wish I could get him to
relax and enjoy our new life. Stop and smell the convicts. He's a cellblock
celebrity, after all, thanks to me.

12. "Lighten up," I'd tell him if I could talk. "Things could be worse.
"At least, for once in your loser lifetime, you're always guaranteed to
come out on top."
*****
About the Author
Robert T. Jeschonek is an award-winning writer whose fiction, comics,
essays, articles, and podcasts have been published around the world. His
young adult urban fantasy novel, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist, won
the Forward National Literature Award and was named one of Booklist’s
Top Ten First Novels for Youth. Simon & Schuster, DAW/Penguin Books,
and DC Comics have published his work. He won the grand prize in Pocket
Books' nationwide Strange New Worlds contest and was nominated for the
British Fantasy Award. Visit him online at www.thefictioneer.com. You can
also find him on Facebook and follow him as @TheFictioneer on Twitter.
*****
AUTHOR NEWSLETTER
How To Get Cool Free Goodies and News Updates:
Sign Up for the Robert T. Jeschonek Fictioneer Newsletter!

13. Just follow this web address and fill out the form:
http://tinyurl.com/cktbwup
*****
Special Preview: Dick by Law
Another Twisted Comedy
From Robert T. Jeschonek
Now On Sale
Tucker County Courthouse
Melville, Pennsylvania, 9:31 a.m.
"You guys have made my day!" Judge Jonah Bartlebaugh's rich, resonant
voice boomed from the judge's bench in the vast main courtroom of the
Tucker County courthouse. "Thank you for this!"
Simon Bellerophon, who was sitting at the plaintiff's table near the front
of the courtroom, smiled. The happier the judge, the better, right?

14. Then why wasn't Simon's lawyer smiling, too?
Simon frowned as he looked up at Quinn Keegan, his attorney. Quinn
was standing beside him, eyes fixed on the judge, face unreadable. He was
doing a great job of keeping his feelings under wraps, hiding them even
from Simon, who knew him better than anyone.
Because Quinn, after all, was his foster brother. Who better to help
launch his mad quest for revenge?
"Your Honor?" Quinn's flinty brown features were silhouetted in the
sunlight streaming in from the big arched windows ringing the courtroom
walls. Swirling dust formed a halo in the multicolored shaft from the
stained glass dome in the cupola overhead.
Judge Bartlebaugh chuckled and flapped a sheet of paper in the air. The
crackling flap echoed through the giant, ornate courtroom, which was a
remnant of the county's long-gone glory days. Tucker County had been a
booming place twenty years ago, before the steel companies had pulled out
of Melville, the big-money heart of the region, and shut down all the mills.
"You do know this is a first-of-its-kind lawsuit, don't you?"
"Yes, your honor." Quinn spoke gracefully, as he always did in court...or
anywhere else, for that matter.
"Well, thank you for cutting through the boredom!" Judge Bartlebaugh
ran a hand up over his smooth, bare scalp and down the back of his silver
fringe of hair. "So what's the gist of your argument?"
"We see this as a case of truth in advertising," said Quinn. "Dangers to
society should be labeled as such."
Simon straightened in his chair, heart pounding as his brother made the
case. There they were, going into battle side by side, kicking ass and taking
names.
And the enemy himself sat thirty feet away.

15. Leaning back in his chair, Simon looked across the courtroom at the
defense table. The enemy's enormous, beer-bellied attorney, Delroy Swope,
blocked the view...all three hundred ice-cream-suited pounds of him.
As Simon watched, the enemy himself leaned back and met his gaze.
With his curly black hair, ruddy, pockmarked face, and wild eyes, he looked
like a crazed pirate or a member of the Manson family. His glare caught
Simon like hot metal catching skin, radiating waves of pure cherry-red fury.
He silently mouthed two unmistakable words in Simon's direction: Fuck
you.
Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Horne Shaw, so-called claims
adjustor for the 5G5 delivery company.
Just then, Judge Jonah Bartlebaugh's voice snapped Simon's attention
back to the front of the courtroom. "Oh, this is good." He chuckled as he
stroked his impeccably trimmed silver mustache and beard with his thumb
and forefinger. "How can you not love this case?"
Swope waved his thick arms and shook his head. "First of all, it's pure
defamation, Your Honor..."
"The question was rhetorical." Judge Bartlebaugh chuckled. "But hey,
great reaction time!"
Without another word, Swope dropped into his chair.
"Mr. Fluff-and-Fold!" Suddenly, Judge Bartlebaugh swung his gaze
back to Simon. "This started over a washing machine, right?"
"Yes, Your Honor," said Simon.
"So what if Strayer-Roland gives you a new washing machine?" said
Judge Bartlebaugh. "Could we make this case go away?"
"No, Your Honor." Simon said it without hesitation. "There's a principle
involved."

16. "Oh, good." Judge Bartlebaugh rubbed his hands together briskly. "And
what principle is that?"
"People should have the right to know when they're dealing with
someone like him." Simon hiked a thumb in Horne's direction. "They
shouldn't have to find out the hard way, after the fact."
"'Caveat emptor,' Your Honor." Swope wobbled to his feet. "'Let the
buyer beware.' That's what we say."
Judge Bartlebaugh rolled his eyes. "I never would have guessed."
"Motion to dismiss this frivolous lawsuit, Your Honor," said Swope.
"Is it frivolous?" Judge Bartlebaugh raised his eyebrows at Simon. "You
don't want a new washing machine. You don't want money. You don't want
any form of compensation for the damages you've suffered."
"Correct, Your Honor," said Simon.
Judge Bartlebaugh grinned and shook his head. "You just want the court
to acknowledge officially that the defendant, Horne Shaw..."
"...is a dick." Simon nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."
"A dick," said Judge Bartlebaugh. "As in a person of low character."
"I see it as doing a service for society," said Simon.
"I think it's our duty to identify people like him."
"Your Honor, I ask again that you dismiss this most frivolous lawsuit."
Swope combed pork sausage fingers through his shock of wavy white hair.
"Suing to have my client branded a dick is an extraordinary abuse of both
the court's time and the county's money."
Judge Bartlebaugh smirked. "You want to talk about abusing time?" He
tapped his desk with an index finger. "Try sitting up here day after day

17. dealing with one boring drug arrest or property line beef after another. This
dick case is a breath of fresh air!"
"We will demonstrate that this suit has significant merits, Your Honor,"
said Quinn. "We seek an injunction under the public nuisance statute. We
will prove that Mr. Shaw is a nuisance to the public, and as such, deserving
of regulation."
Judge Bartlebaugh unwrapped a hunk of pink bubble gum and popped it
into his mouth. "The statute was written with other nuisances in mind. Are
you comparing Mr. Shaw to a strip mine or hog farm?"
"If the shoe fits." Simon said it just loud enough for Quinn to hear.
But Quinn gave no sign he'd heard. "Mr. Shaw fits the very definition of
public nuisance. He is offensive and annoying to the people of this
community and others."
"Your Honor..." said Swope.
Quinn wouldn't let him interrupt. "Mr. Shaw actually exceeds the
definition under the statute. Not only is he offensive and annoying, but he
actively causes pain and suffering on a regular basis."
"Bullshit!" Face flushed, Horne popped up out of his chair.
Swope pushed him back down. "I object to Mr. Keegan's
characterization of my client!"
"In ten years as a claims adjustor for 5G5 Delivery," said Quinn, "how
many claims has Mr. Shaw paid out?"
"That is not relevant," said Swope.
"Zero." Quinn returned his gaze to Judge Bartlebaugh. "He has never
paid one penny to a customer."
"Objection!" Swope's ample jowls jiggled with rage.

18. "And you know it's not because there weren't any damages in ten years."
Quinn spread his arms wide. "It's a furniture and appliance delivery
company, for heaven's sake."
Simon got a chill up his spine. Listening to Quinn when he hit his stride
was hardcore stirring. He was like a super-hero in a black pinstripe suit and
red tie.
"You will see, if you give us the chance," said Quinn, "that Mr. Shaw is
at best a nuisance and at worst a genuine threat to the public good."
Judge Bartlebaugh narrowed his eyes. "But the injunction specifically
says dick. How do you plan to prove he's not just a nuisance, but a dick?"
Quinn held up a sheaf of papers. "We have signed affidavits from
dozens of people supporting our..."
"Yes, but it's subjective." Judge Bartlebaugh rocked back in his chair
and gazed at the ceiling, chewing his gum as he spoke. "We might as well
call him a fuckwad or a shit-for-brains."
"Hey!" said Shaw.
"Your Honor..." said Quinn.
"Why not change the complaint?" said Judge Bartlebaugh. "Leave out
the 'dick' part."
Quinn stared at Simon with special intensity. The truth was, Quinn had
hated the "dick" concept from the get-go and had tried many times to talk
Simon out of it.
But the answer was still the same.
"That would be missing the point," said Simon.
Quinn stared so hard, he looked like his eyeballs were about to pop out.

19. "He's a total dick." Simon hiked a thumb toward Horne. "People should
know."
Judge Bartlebaugh cracked his gum and got up from his chair. "All right
then. The elements of the case are clear to me. It's been fun, but now we're
done."
"Thank you, Your Honor." Swope closed his leather-bound notebook
with a crack that echoed through the cavernous courtroom and grinned over
at Simon and Quinn. "So pleased we could reach this result."
As Judge Bartlebaugh started down the steps behind the bench, Simon
slumped. He'd known the lawsuit was a long shot, but he was still
disappointed at the outcome. Even without a win, he'd hoped to have a little
more time to make his point in a public forum. A little more time to get
back at that dick Horne Shaw. But now, all his high hopes for revenge
zoomed away at once like pigeons from a gunshot.
And then zoomed right back.
"See you Monday, everyone." Judge Bartlebaugh waved on his way
through the door to his chambers.
"Huh?" Startled, Simon turned to Quinn, who looked equally startled.
"But you said we were done here!" said Swope.
"Done for the weekend." Judge Bartlebaugh blew a bubble, then popped
it and sucked the gum back into his mouth. "No way am I dismissing this
case!"
With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.
*****

20. What happens next? Find out in Dick by Law, now on sale for your
favorite e-reading device!
*****
E-books by Robert T. Jeschonek
Fantasy
6 Fantasy Stories
6 More Fantasy Stories
Blazing Bodices
Earthshaker, A Novel (Urban Fantasy)
Girl Meets Mind Reader
Groupie Everlasting
Heaven Bent, A Novel
Rose Head
Snowman's Chance in Hell
The Bear in the Cable-Knit Sweater
The Genie's Secret
The Return of Alice
The Sword That Spoke

21. Warning! Do Not Read This Story!
Erotica
Kiss of the Acolyte
Horror
Bloodliner, A Novel
Diary of a Maggot
Dionysus Dying
Fear of Rain
Road Rage
Humor (Adults Only)
Dick by Law, A Novel
Literary
6 Short Stories
Getting Higher, A novel
Mystery and Crime

22. 6 Crime Stories
Crimes in the Key of Murder
Death by Polka, A Novel
The First Detect-Eve
The Foolproof Cure for Cancer
The Other Waiter
Who Unkilled Johnny Murder?
Poetry
Flight of Ideas
Science Fiction
6 Scifi Stories
6 More Scifi Stories
6 Scifi Stories Book 3
Battlenaut Crucible, A Novel
Beware the Black Battlenaut
Day 9, A Novel
Give The Hippo What He Wants
Lenin of the Stars

23. Messiah 2.0
My Cannibal Lover
Off The Face Of The Earth
One Awake In All The World
Playing Doctor
Scifi Motherlode
Serial Killer vs. E-Merica
Something Borrowed, Something Doomed
Star Sex
Teacher of the Century
The Greatest Serial Killer in the Universe
The Love Quest of Smidgen the Snack Cake
The Shrooms of Benares
Tijuana, Massachusetts
Universal Language, A Novella
Superheroes
6 Superhero Stories
7 Comic Book Scripts
7 More Comic Book Scripts

24. 4 More Comic Book Scripts
7 Comic Book Scripts Strike Again
A Matter of Size
Forced Retirement (Forced Heroics Book 1)
Forced Betrayal (Forced Heroics Book 2)
Forced Partnership (Forced Heroics Book 3)
Heroes of Global Warming
The Masked Family, A Novel
The Wife Who Never Was
Thrillers
Backtracker, A Novel
The Trek It! Series
Trek This!
Trek Off!
Trek Fail!
Trek Script!
Trek Script 2
Trek Novel!

25. Trek You!
Trek It!
Young Readers
Dolphin Knight, A Novel
Lump
Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf
Tommy Puke and the World's Grossest Grown-Up
*****
Now on Sale from Robert T. Jeschonek
A Young Adult Fantasy Novel That Really Rocks!
One of Booklist's Top Ten First Novels for Youth
Being trapped in a book can be a nightmare—just ask Idea Deity. He’s
convinced that he exists only in the pages of a novel written by a
malevolent author . . . and that he will die in Chapter 64. Meanwhile,
Reacher Mirage, lead singer of the secret rock band Youforia, can’t figure
out who’s posting information about him and his band online that only he
should know. Someone seems to be pulling the strings of both teens’ lives .

26. . . and they’re not too happy about it. With Youforia about to be exposed in
a national magazine and Chapter 64 bearing down like a speeding freight
train, time is running out. Will Idea and Reacher be able to join forces and
take control of their own lives before it’s too late?
School of Rock meets Alice in Wonderland in this fast-paced, completely
unpredictable novel of alternate realities, time travel, and rock ‘n’ roll. If
your favorite band does not exist . . . do you?
"Overall, My Favorite Band Does Not Exist is a wacky and enjoyable
trip...full of intriguing, imaginative concepts that keep a reader hooked." –
Thom Dunn, The Daily Genoshan
"This first novel has all the look of a cult fave: baffling to many, an anthem
for a few, and unlike anything else out there." –Ian Chipman, Booklist
Starred Review
"Chaos theory meets rock 'n' roll in adult author Jeschonek's ambitious,
reality-bending YA debut." "...this proudly surreal piece of metafiction
could develop a cult following..."–Publishers Weekly
"Reading this reminded me of authors like Terry Prachett and Neil
Gaiman…" –BiblioJunkies
Now Available from Graphia Books!

27. Order today from your favorite bookseller.
*****
THE SECRET OF THE ULTIMATE MALE ENHANCEMENT
Copyright © 2013 by Robert T. Jeschonek
www.thefictioneer.com
Cover Art Copyright © 2013 by Ben Baldwin
www.benbaldwin.co.uk
Published in April 2013 by Pie Press by arrangement with the author. All
rights reserved by the author.
Originally appeared in Space and Time 115, 2011.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

28. resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
Design by Pie Press
Johnstown, Pennsylvania