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I want to tell the story of a durable little

  • I want to tell the story of a durable little neck zit. It started out like a subterranean volcano, wide, hot and sloping. I really tried not to pinch while it was still gestating b

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  • ecause I thought my neck hairs were Pompeiian villagers. I even quit smoking so they wouldn't mistake the puffs for volcanic ash. But I didn't shower much, so their crops

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  • reeked of the patchouli oil I used to cover up the rancid B O. There was a small but loyal contingent of sensory-challenged shoppers who faithfully purchased the crops at a farmers

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  • insurance agency, where lawyers were lined up like some FEMA disaster aid kiosk. Lawyers ready for the first feint of fainting from the rancid

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  • rat-kings seeking to overthrow the Finch, Finch and Finch "Sue 'Em And Weep" branch of persecuting attorneys. The shoe-elves threw all their gusto at the litigious bastards,

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  • But like any unscrupulous lawyers, the Finch, Finch and Finch just flew the coop, changing names to Przewalski and Sons. The ratking had the shoe-elves make mile high boots to

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  • reach Denver from below. The legal culture had changed dramatically since his early days as a congressional page. He looked sorrowfully upon the distinguished portrait of his

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  • Uncle jack at age 92.

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  • Most of us were sad. But it was one hell of a wake we'd held after we'd buried him. I was still half cut 3 days later. I guess that's one of the reasons that

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  • make me unburied him. I had the hope that he was not really dead or that he would reborn as a zombie. But no, he is just a corpse. The worms seem to enjoy it. I wish I were a worm

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