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we led you on that the purpose of climbing tree-palace was to further a stenciled idea of a spotted and oiled urchin. you stole the pop out of my vinegar. when you pulled out the stitches on the side of the road, i'm sorry for not howling; just saw a can that was old and nemesis. made me think of cancelling the submission, paralyzed fur, me jerky. with or without plastics, i still think you're a fine champion. you outlast the shin and the crook. wherever we end up sugar mama, let it be known that icechests have new connotations.
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