I can't remember the moment it came to me...that
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I can't remember the moment it came to me...that I would be the last one. It should have been obvious and a conclusion easily derived from the first misstep, but for whatever
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reason, I had to learn to live with the fact my job as a convenience store clerk paid less than my last career as a high class prostitute. This economy made my pimp lay me off so a
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less experienced call girl could join his employ. I mean really, when have you heard of a pimp laying off one of his hookers? NOW where am I supposed to get my dental benefits?
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Gentle Dental? For god sakes, they use cherry-flavored fluoride treatments there! The irony was that I was allergic to cherries. I had found that out the hard way after eating
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this hamburger that had fruit cake hamburger buns. The burger joint I go to is run by the Blue Hair Maffia. It's a bunch of creepy old ladies who call themselves the Golden Girls,
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probably because of their incontinence. These merry hags are fond of correcting me when I order fries, telling me I should have a side salad instead. The problem with fruit cake is
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that its name is often a better description of its digestive terminus. There's no disputing matters of taste, but matters of the lower intestine are a whole 'nother
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barnacle. The sea urchin delicately dabbed his facial orifice before devouring the entire head of the richly scented cod. "But what about the sheep's lower intestine?" inquired
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the sea horse. "No, no, haggis is a Scottish delicacy. I'm Irish." The sea horse nodded apologetically, and shared his secret stash of malt vinegar hidden in the reef. Surprised,
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he wet his bed that night. He then realized that it was all a dream. When he got out of bed he never thought of women the same way. And all weird in the world was gone. The End.
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- Started
- 2010-12-02 01:51:46
- Finished
- 2011-01-11 16:38:00
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