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"Hello, America!" shouted a mouse down the

  • "Hello, America!" shouted a mouse down the microphone. Of course, this being a mouse, it only came out as "Squeak-squeak, Squeeaak!". The President looked baffled. Was this

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  • the Vice President that was supposed to be his re-election running mate? A mouse. He was so small, so furry. Oh well thought the president as he scooped him up, politics makes for

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  • -mer mystics awfully jealous. Ratsputin lurked in the aether, ready to pounce on Barack's mouse/VP. Prior the Vice Presidential debates, Ratsputin planted a trap with cheese and

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  • cookies but the candidates were too strong of character to fall for such a silly Russian plot. They saw the cheese but the opportunity to evangelize to the assembled masses was

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  • hing themselves in the sewage treatment outflow was too good to pass up. Paul said a quick prayer and spat in the river. John cried "Behold! Ye Heathens be saved!" and clapped his

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  • his thighs together three times. John held their heads under the raw sewage, muttering something about teaching them a lesson and continued to slap his thighes repeatedly until

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  • John's vibrating adipose tissue formed a standing wave whose peaks & troughs reminded him of the Himalayan landscape near Adiposatva Buddhas cave. Lotus bloomed in the raw sewage &

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  • cloaked the ascent of Buddha's Terminal Death Army. John's glutes signaled the impending approach of bloodthirsty hybrid-driving Starbucks-sipping hipsters whose tenets drove them

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  • to wear cricket helmets and gloves whilst chanting England supporters songs. John's fears were realised when over the horizon the Barmy Army came to face Buddha's Terminal Death Ar

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  • dvark. Shit! That's not how you spell aardvark. But, the important part was that the soccer hooligans would soon crumble beneath Buddha's favorite misfit animal.

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