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"Rodger me with a halibut!" screamed the

  • "Rodger me with a halibut!" screamed the headmaster. Head Boy Lionel Throckmorton began caning any and all Prefects within range, while Ms. Carwell, the newly appointed French

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  • Bread had dried out on the way back from the supermarket. Head Boy Lionel Throckmorton went into a spiral of carbo-shame. He dove head first into the cafeteria's

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  • array of pastries, baguettes and biscuits. Throwing his Head Boy badge to one side, Lionel went on to further disgrace the name of Throckmorton by drowning in a vat of yeasty broth

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  • and letting loose with a spirited rendition of "Fling Me Around The Barn and Call Me Bertha" with a rousing yodeling finish. Some were less than impressed. Not me. I cheered loudly

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  • brayed, and stamped my hooves to the beat. Bertha was such a dreamboat. Those big lashes & heavy udder, mmmhh. But our love was not meant to be. A donkey & a cow, who ever heard of

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  • such a romance? And would our children have to serve as either symbols for the Democratic Party, or be served as McDonald's hamburgers. "No Bertha, " I told her sadly, "It is not

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  • that simple. We'd have to establish citizenship which is going to be really hard with the current Trump administration flailing about all over the place on what constitutes a citiz

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  • en. But speaking of ipecac, my trained crow brought me a VHS tape of some randomly recorded episodes of Taxi. Closer inspection revealed a rare pre-internet YouTube Poop, focusing

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  • on replacing all of Danny DeVito's lines with audio from The Lorax. No cs188, but still a decent attempt for its time. I rewarded my trained cow by feeding her some hay. Cows like

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  • mine enjoy grazing near tornadoes, and those are the ones you want. I train my cows to jump into funnel clouds. Out of the funnel, and onto your grill. You deserve the best steaks.

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