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Criminee, Mama's at the sewing machine again.

  • Criminee, Mama's at the sewing machine again. She's gonna make me wear whatever she's making. From the looks of it, I'll soon be sporting some camouflage footie pajamas. The one

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  • invisibility cloak I have is torn, and those camo-footie PJs are the next best thing. I can blend in with the other backpacking, anthropomorphic piles of leaves. The comfort factor

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  • was totally negated by the multivariable dutch oven that was left for me by a twist of fate. But I have incredible wafting technique and so

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  • I made waffles. I drizzled syrup on it and handed it to the judges. I knew this would win me the cup. Only, I didn't hear the gunshot behind me.

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  • Unfortunately, instead of hitting the piece of shit judge that had been staring at me the whole time, my waffles blocked the bullet. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*gaspOOOOOOOOO!"

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  • *gaspOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*gaspOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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  • Ron rolled his eyes. What were they up to now? Should he call someone? Ever since his new neighbors had moved in last month, his nights had been filled with

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  • bleary eyed staring thu the hole he'd drilled in the cheap velvet Elvis Portrait above the neighbor's mantle. Ron took notes. "May 13, 2015 at 3:02am: Mr. Cravitz puts on latex dog

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  • Costume as part of playing the role of a human puppy. His handler is a tall dude with a writerly beard and long slicked back grey hair. It may be shocking to see Mr. Cravitz do

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  • that to someone's leg and wag his tail when the handler rattles the treat bag. You would too if you were in a similar situation. Just ask Cravitz, when he is back to normal.

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