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God how he hated Tuesdays, if it wasn't the

  • God how he hated Tuesdays, if it wasn't the motorcycle gangs, it was the school kids, all clamouring for more

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  • then their share, at the all you can eat pancake bar

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  • ,which was a shady operation, so they all went home with food poisoning. They thought that was the worst of it, but

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  • their visits to the toilets had produces strong liquidity #6's on the Bristol Stool Charts and then they desired

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  • more fruit. They were going to move up that chart one way or another. Perhaps they could save housing money if they just moved into a bathroom. Think anyone would rent one?

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  • Later...well, it might as well be a bathroom, except that it lacked a toilet, shower or sink. But it was about the same size. Now their love could blossom unhindered by

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  • rules, regulations, or common sense. She stroked his massive chin, the gray whiskers tickling her fingers. "Sugartits, lemme tell you a story." The candle flickered, casting

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  • an eerie pattern of light across the lusty pair. He began to weave his tale. "I once knew a bloke out of Lancaster that could fry up a mean turkey. This shit was to die for, hon."

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  • Her eyes lit up and she salivated a bit. He described deep-fried snickers and left the bar with an arm on her voluptuous hip and winked at the guys. The skinny chick was dumbstruck

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  • but vowed that never again would she waste her time with low-fat foods, fresh fruit or vegetables. Always remember kids: the cool people eat raw lard and sugar.

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