Lobsters in the fridge and painters on the ridge, and everything is fine with MOAB! Hey, Mom! I'm gonna get all them stitches out. I look about as ugly as a wet painter in a dungheap, myself, but soon I will be the talko' the town with my scintillating beauty, such that it will even outshine the nebulous BWL and the nefarious Rapparree in sheer scintillating devilish masculine corona. Just you wait. Meanwhile these last few days have been nearly the most unproductive of my short and ultimately meaningless life. Why I managed to catch up on all the John Carter of Mars books! There's a feat for ya! I always did suffer from flattish feats. I inherited it from my grandmother's uncle, Flattish Feats, Junior, who got it from his Dad, Flattish the First.
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