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If the double-talk cronkite bars, we may never blow sideways the masterish quantum. Your mastrophobic dyspepsia commingles unneringly. Making upwise, filibuster the madcap or we undermine the very fabric of all that is Washington. If this leaf of history overturns my canturbury table the best that we can hope for is the crematory obfuscation of underrated elf diarrhea.
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Sleep well, and dream of large women.
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