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Story No. 30900
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Sitting in the launderette,watching my washing revolving around, pondering to myself about
whether or not chickens have knees. I would assume they do, but I don't know for sure. Maybe I should ask
a doctor or soemthing. I get they might have some answers to why my fingers have suddenly dropped off my hands. They have instead, grown back on my legs so i look a little bit like
Grandpa Munster. It brought back so many fearful memories of when I was
hunkered down in the trenches at Verdun, firing mortars at the Fritz
..pity it wasnt at the Ritz.becoz we could of had tea & scones & danced the night away to Frank Sinatra.That would of been nicer than being killed by Mr Fritz by fire & brimstone.
