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Story No. 19096
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Verily I say unto thee, thou shalt not maketh a graven image of thy neighbour's ox, nor of thy neighbour's
Opium crop." But little Georgie liked Opium, so he snuck into Farmer John's
back pocket and thought himself a very clever boy indeed. Little did he know, the trousers were sentient beings and had decided that a life cupping John's saggy behind wasn't one worth living, so they were off to incinerate themselves
before the new Britney Spears cd came out. "I just can't live in a world where she is allowed to make music!" cried my mother, as she
wrang various handkerchiefs and tissues over a bucket of tears. 'You see where your horrid little antics have gotten us? I'm so dehydrated I might shrivel up,' she paused to sniff, 'and
pee on a tree.
