I went out for lunch last weekend with Mumward, James Ward and James Ward's girlfriend Alexa. Mumward had phoned me and said she thought it might be a nice idea if the four of us went out and Mumward and I split the bill. Immediately I saw a glaring flaw in this plan, but because I didn't want to appear mean I agreed. Then as soon as I'd
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1200 words and it's an essay on a feeling which is difficult to describe. First word sounds like some kind of bird... turkey? pigeon?
Who could possibly forget seeing him pull off Twelve Angry Men in less than two minutes?
Hold on, I think you're channelling the spirit of Humphrey Littleton. Do you feel an urge to play a trumpet and hang around old men complaining they're not funny? I think there's an exorcism ritual involving a kazoo and a swannee whistle.
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Hold on, I think you're channelling the spirit of Humphrey Littleton.
Rumbled.
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Yeah, whores.
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I don't believe you
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