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Story No. 19453
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The witch stirred her boiling cauldron and cackled evily, thinking of how her magic spell would
affect the poor animal. So she sat back and
kept whittling a model of a pony from the dry piece of
chicken. It was disgusting. Inedible. Yet, he
managed to sweep it under the table and into his sizeable pants without anyone noticing
the bottom had been cut of them for who knew what manner of sexual purposes. I resolved to march myself down to the nearest respectable tailor to buy a replacement. Something in tweed, I think. Yes. And very itchy.
