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What bugs me about the internets, is why

  • What bugs me about the internets, is why do they call that thing a "mouse", and also, the fact that this computer thing doesn't resemble nor does it taste anything like an "apple"

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  • but I guess that's what I get for being so easily confused, Heh, last time I wandered into traffic it was a real scene, wish you had been there. You don't need crack to think like

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  • a teenager, just sitting in front of the TV getting pummeled by ad's will crazy you up like nobody's business. Why those ads convinced me that I was lacking something really

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  • made me feel just terrible about my inadequate bosom. I feared that my boyfriend of seven years would see me as the flat woman I am and leave me for a more figurely woman. I picked

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  • a winner, I retorted, someone who accepts me as I am -- why can't I accept that? He even calls me svelte and elegant, I mused ruefully as I organized his exercise magazines

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  • into two hundred-pound stacks for ease in benchpressing (sturdy metal bands binding each pile together). I sorted them chronologically and by title. Gratitude, you might wonder?

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  • That word's on page 264. I had decided to read one of the dictionaries as I lifted the rest. I was working my body and mind (pages 37 and 682, respectively). But what of my spirit?

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  • It longed for a workout alongside my body and mind. I decided to do 3 anonymous good deeds. First off, I arranged for a homeless man to get a job helping with maintenance at the

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  • YMCA. 2nd, I gave my old suits to a Goodwill store. 3rd, I tutored some poor kids with their homework. To maintain anonymity I wore a stocking on my head. I became the PhantomGiver

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  • which made me prime bait for the Phantom Tollbooth, which had raised its highway fares by an alarming rate that year to grease people trying to visit the interstate rodeo.

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