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Lotsa Posta |
Joined: Mon Sep 19, 2016 9:33 am Posts: 710
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Monday morning in Mouse Hollow, and the snowflakes coming down are the size of dinner plates. A garden-variety liberal such as myself could be crushed beneath the weight of those monsters.
I'm going to spend some portion of the morning addressing Christmas cards. Traditionally, the last of them goes to Santa Claus. This year I'm going to ask Santa for a football helmet with woolen ear-flaps.
It would be pointless to expect anything from SHAKES apart from the usual lump of coal.
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