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The cat drools when you pet it.

  • The cat drools when you pet it.

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  • So, of course, I go out of my way to pet it. Several minutes and a small pool of drool later, my job is done. I wipe the excess cat saliva on my mother's couch. I hate that couch.

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  • It was covered in plastic, cat fur and my discontent. How was it that guests would ever enjoy that damn thing anyway? It was a shrine to my mother's life. Beautiful, but separate.

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  • I'll never forget the day I had her laminated. The guy at Kinko's looked at me like I was crazy. But I said, this was her dying wish. After that I drug the corpse to

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  • Mayor Gingivich's waiting room. I imagined his flabby face when, next morning, he would trip over the laminated barmaid in his usual stupor. He'd rack his brain, thinking that he

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  • had forgotten to put it away. After a few days it would start to gnaw at him. After a week he'd start questioning everything and by the end of the month he'd be ready for the crazy

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  • glue that he liked to be applied to his rectum. I always used to say to other people about him, "Rectum? Damn near

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  • kilt him. He blowed up like a balloon, till he could barely squeeze hisself through one of them double doors down the Winn Dixie. He'da popped like the Hindenburg iffin he'd kep

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  • on-a growin' but that was not gonna be the case. Nosirree. Not BobJoe the Plumber. He had hisself a case of Drain-O in the back of this here pick-up, and he hisself had a funnel

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  • so he shoved it in his mouth, poured the Drain-O into the funnel and drifted to sleep.

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