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Stop it. Just.... stop it.

  • Stop it. Just.... stop it.

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  • Ever since I was a young sapling, I had tried to expand my speech vocabulary. However, no matter how hard I tried to utter any word besides 'okay', there was never anything but

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  • a soft wheeze, which would barely escape my mouth. I couldn't comprehend why this would always happen, I'd give anything to be able to speak freely. This passion was why I chose to

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  • swallow the reed of my clarinet. It was stuck at the back of my throat. My voice was a contralto, husky at times, shrill at others. Finally my wife the composer listened to me

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  • then stumbled over to the piano and pulled out Bach's "Air on a G-string." "Sing!" she demanded, as her fingers flew over the keys. Apparently the neighbords were listening to

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  • -p Gun-style which meant, when the neighbors listened to them play piano they played a montage version of volleyball and jumped on a motorbike which was silly because

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  • ...well,I don't know!I just was!Not everything has a reason,or happens for a reason.Actually,most things are random.Like fire ants they came with their motorbikes and at 250

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  • :05 Martian time on a certain day they felt a calling, and so they wheeled their motorbikes around a certain tumblebush on the frontier, had some vittles and conveyed the teachings

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  • of "Examples of What Not to do" to the impressionable native children. But the sideways motorcycle technology was not adaptible, & they were up a creek without a certain implement.

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