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Story No. 3189
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Just another brain-dead addict, littering the street with his redundant body. He'd be better off dead if he wasn't already on the inside. Useless unworthy
peasants still come out of the woodwork begging for mercy. They will not get it. Not until my dear old dog barks for one last time the old cry of
the mad wolverine with that of the new honk of the wild goose, opening a portal that will allow you to summon the gremlins from their demention. Upon entering they immediately search the vicinity for any other living life forms and detain them.
of course the only way we could do that is . . .
a rabbid spider monkey with a bad case of small pox.
So bad that his face had to be scraped of with a potato peeler and replaced with plasticine strips, all the colours of the bow man.
