Because of extenuating circumstances, poor Phalkin was institutionalized after posting this.
Flatpoint High is a maniac, blowing it up, blowing it all up. Damn him to hell.
King Gonad pulled this thing out of the oven about 20 minutes too early.
Mister Prostitute finally found a place to show off his love of botany.
Sorry about the eye, GlassEye Boy. We're all pulling for you.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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