So, I thought I would write something angsty, something cringing, something I could look back at later and say "My God, did I actually write that? Was that irrelevancy so important then?" and laugh. But then I thought that you all would much rather read this, which is good
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Squashed turnips!
Squashed turnips!
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
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I would also venture, my dear, to say that he was rather totally alcoholic and somewhat insane. (And completely brilliant.)
Besides, I think that "emo" by nature is precluded by artistic merit.
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