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Story No. 320
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Throttled out of bed, elbows ajar, feet all about the place
whose appearance seem cordial, with no cordial shoe horns to usher them with. In that respect, life is irritating.
Yet I still sit about with spaghetti on my head
I wiped the meatballs from my tearducts
which rolled, slowly, down my face leaving gravy trails. Once they had fallen to the ground, I looked in the mirror and realised I resembled a Cherokee Cheiftain. Now I just needed some feathers...
a trowel, four pints of melted lard and a
- Contributors:
- klim snippledodger
- manikin wolf
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arkaya - sandpit
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Crowfeeder -
Big Vadge Madge
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