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Story No. 30992
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How many fingers am I holding up?
Thirteen, as it turns out. Five on the left, five on the right, and three I cut off from
your hand and put them in the glove compartment of my Volvo. You can now
laugh at me for owning an over-priced car that looks like a box. Or you can laugh at me for
tripping the waiter at the Chinese restaurant. We still had to pay for
that crack I had made earlier on in the day, but I had time for that. And knew that it would all work out in the end.
