11600
|
oh god/
oh captain crunch/
how did you divvy up my flimsy soul?/
what have I done to deserve/
this silly putty brand of torture?
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91900
|
The county sent two crews, one to get Mr. Meyers, the old shut-in, tall and affable, but quiet and bent, like a crooked coat rack with a porkpie atop, the other for his dog, an english setter whom he shadowed like a familiar. I say he was the familiar and
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1384128
|
No fuckin' way, Maude. Excuse me, but you know I can't stand that bag of wind. No way.
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