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Story No. 3003
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I was baking a cake
in the kitchen of Buckingham palace
was a terrible place. The din of human screaming was made worse by the overpowering stench of rancid, rotting flesh, needed to feed the denizens of the palace. The Queen
waved graciously at the crowd, before losing her temper and angrily dropping her
antique pocket submarine which smashed into a thousand
teeny tiny pieces of spleen. The children rejoiced, now that the President was dead.
