Cullen was playing "baseball" (really just underhand pitching, hitting, and retrieving) with Stuart last night, when our last wiffle ball rolled under the porch. It was far out-of-reach, and dinner was almost ready anyway. So Cullen explained to Stuart that it would be better to go inside for the time-being, and worry about how to get the ball out
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(See also the show "It's always sunny in Philadelphia"; sub "cat" for "whiffle ball".)
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