Every year my family gathers for a great celebration of ...well, i haven't figured out what yet.
Anyways, all the "adults" get drunk and sit, drooling, around the carcass of a poor, slow, defenseless turkey and all the trimmings. This gruesome meal is complete with stuffing(who wants to eat something that has been STUFFED inside the dead bird?),
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and on this celebrated slaughter, we give thanks that the British adapted to such harsh conditions by learning to steal and murder
HAZAA!
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holy crap
you write really well.
pshh...the only thing i do well is debate, and when is that useful? uhm...never.
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as you should be.
i miss chillin at your insane house. mostly because everyone feed me there.
:)
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