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366 lines
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| | Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present... | |
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| | "Mogel *WILL* Marry Winona Ryder" | |
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| | By: Mogel | |
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\ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ /
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Hello, all... I'd like to stop the standard Hoe-Flow and do a wee
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lil' talkin' bout someone that I love best. I shall truly now declare my
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unrestless love and respect for...(if you hadn't guessed by the title)...
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the most talented actress ever...Winona Ryder.
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This is not an adolecent crush. This is love. TRUE LOVE. And it's
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also respect. REAL RESPECT. I love and respect. I love repectantly. I
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respect lovingly. I do so solomly respect and love the woman of my dreams.
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Yes, she came to me in several dreams. Wrapped in clothes and shrowds of
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beauty. Showing me her smile. Talking to me. Making me feel a little less
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lonely in this shitty hell whole that we call earth (and there wasn't too
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much sex, either). I have learned that Winona is the ONLY woman that I will
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truly ever love. I will, to my dyinging day love her.
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But the BEST part of all of this love is that I *WILL* marry her!
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That's right this isn't just some imagination. It is fact. She came to me
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in my fifth dream with her and told me herself that we were to be wed. So
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this is already all planned out.
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Why did she break up with Johnny Depp? Well, besides the fact
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that he's a prick, she did it (of coarse) because she could only truly be
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happy with me. This Soul Asylum lead singer (note: their music sucks) thing
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is just a substitute for me until I move to California (doesn't she know he
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smells?)...You see I understand these things...after all, I live way out
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across the country. But in time we will be wed. I know what you are
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thinking... you are thinking "Yeah Right Mogel!" Well, that is not
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acceptable. You see, it doesn't matter what your petty brain believes
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because it will be FACT some day. I AM marrying Winona Ryder.
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I do so love her. I have a picture of my 23-year-old starlite that
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hangs on my ceiling so I can stare at her every night while I fall asleep
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and see her face every morning when I wake up. I dream about her all day.
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Everywhere. All the time. I have been fired from seven jobs because I was
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caught Day Dreaming about her. I failed out of School because all the
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answer I gave on Test were facts about her life. All my girlfriends have
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always looked like her and dumped me because of my obsession with her. I
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have a tatoo of her on my Arm. I have bought every magazine that she has
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ever appeared in 12 times and have plastered those pictures across every
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free inch of my room. I have a Winona Ryder Screen Saver on my Computer.
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I have boxer shorts of her. I have a Coffee Mug with her picture. I sign
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her name on my checks. I chant her name 300 times before every meal.
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It is only destiny. We will be married. I'm sure one day this file
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will fall into the hands of the woman I have fallen in love with and adored
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for many many years. She will read this and understand that we were meant
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to be. She will track me down to say thanks for the kind words. Then we
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will set the wedding date.
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Now thay you can see that we are definatly GOING to get married,
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you might be thinking... "Fine Mogel, so what if you are going to DEFIANTLY
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going to get married to her. That doesn't mean it will last!" Well, you are
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wrong again. You see, I have memorized her in and out. I know her better
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than she knows herself. We are completly perfect for each other and we will
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last forever together. don't believe me!? Well, fine...then here's a great
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article I scanned on her life from "Life", December 1994, Page 94. As you
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read this you will come to realize how PERFECT we are for each other. Oh,
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and thanks go to Vidi for doing this here scan for me and being a righteious
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pal n stuff.
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-----------------{{ I will hold my comments till the End }}------------------
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Baltimore, nine A.M.: Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved
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undershirt, Winona Ryder shuffles into the kitchen of here rented home.
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"I just had a terrible dream," she says sleepily. All the directors she has
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ever worked with were in it, and all of them were angry at her. Stacy
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Cochran the writer-director of Boys, the "small weird" film Winona is making,
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was in the dream too. "I was ... throwing rice at her," Winona says. Her
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mother, Cindy, slight and pretty, in Baltimore to keep her company, has set
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out a grapefruit and a slab of toast. Winona picks at the food, then
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collects the books she's reading - a biography of Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee,
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and journalist Peggy Orenstein's study of adolescent girls - and leaves for
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the set.
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In the scene being shot today, her character, a feckless young woman,
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has been knocked unconscious in a fall from a horse; she wakes up in a
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boarding-school boy's dorm room. Winona's worried: Stacy wants her to play
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the scene alert and focused, and Winona feels her character would be
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cloudier, disoriented. "Where's my horse?" she says over and over, her
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voice just above a whisper, as the cameras roll. She's playing a
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compromise - confused but concentrated. It's tricky. "I feel like I don't
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know what I'm doing out there," she says after many takes.
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She's miserable, but not really. As she speaks, she's perched on the
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lap of David Pirner, the lead singer for the rock band Soul Asylum and her
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boyfriend of the past year and a half. He is wry and relaxed, smiles
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easily, smokes constantly ("I'm no quitter," he says). Everyone on the set
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likes Dave, but Winona likes him the most. He is, she says, "the only
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happy-go-lucky, jolly musician I know." When she isn't working, he stays up
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until three a.m. with her, watching old movies; when she is, he visits her
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on location, enduring the tedium with infinite patience. Today is their
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reunion after a five-day separation, and they can't keep their hands off
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each other.
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------------------------{{ AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! }}--------------------------
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I really didn't want to interrupt this article, but I just couldn't
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stop myself. BLAAAAHHH!!! I'm sure anyone with even half a wit about them
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will see that this article is complete bullshit. There are so many errors
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I will not begin to touch upon, but all this about her and "Dave" OBVIOUSLY
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not true. They could not have been "all over each other". This is
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obviously Propaganda that Life Magazine is using to destroy anyone's hopes
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and dreams. It's obviously a lie. Perhaps the writer of this article is
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actually a SPY that is on my Board and has discovered the truths that I speak
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of on my future with Winona Ryder. He has read it and realized that I was
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really meant to marry her, and therefor wrote this article to damage my
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aspirations and my mission in life. However, please note that most of the
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things relating to her 'boyfreinds' is a fabrication.
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----------------------{{ Now Back to the Article }}-------------------------
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"I'm playing this girl who's so lost, and I've never felt so found
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before," she says, and means it. Things were different in 1993, when she
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was in Portugal shooting "the house of spirits". She found her self at the
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bleak bottom of a two-year depression. "I ignored myself, my 'needs,'" she
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says, self-conscious about the cliche. "I put my career in front of my
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life. I remember so many of my favorite actors saying 'My work is my life.'
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And it's not."
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New York City, some weeks earlier: in an ornate stone building on
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the edge of Chinatown, a tiny, smiling person in floppy denim overalls
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answers the door. A tempting but unspoken joke: Is your mother or father at
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home? But of course this is Winona, and this is her two bedroom apartment,
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handsomely decorated in a kind of low-key luxe: olive-green velvet drapes at
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the living room windows, soft mohair sofa and chairs, a gilded coffee table.
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There are lots of books around, photography collections, novels, a book of
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Preston Sturges screenplays. Upstairs in her bedroom are more books, videos,
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a photograph of Martin Scorsese, who directed her Oscar-nominated performance
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in The Age of Innocence - a performance that represents the first time she
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felt proud of her acting.
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Winona settles into the sofa. At 23, she sits like a kid - shoulders
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drawn together, one foot resting on top of the other. Her skin is so pale
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you can see blue veins crossing her jawline. She's skinny, 100 pounds or
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so, but not intentionally; she tried to gain weight for Age of Innocence but
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couldn't.
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The conversation is not exactly show-biz babble: the sinister
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influence of skinhead rock; the Holocaust Museum; extermination camps.
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Winona is soulful and sincere, but also light and funny. She jokes about
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Scorsese, an idol: if he had made Schindler's List, he would have don
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Schindler after the war, as a drunk - she screws up her face and closes one
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eye - mooching off Jews whose lives he had saved.
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Now the subject is her schedule. "I have lots of time," she says,
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"because I just dropped out of this movie." This movie is Boys. She had
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been crazy about the screenplay and eager to play a complicated, grown-up
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character. She was not, however crazy about a recent script revision that
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added sex scenes. She will not do this version, she has told the producers.
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"There's an obligation to commercialize something when you have a movie star
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in it," she says later. It happened on Reality Bites, the generation X
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comedy that she feels got slicked up into a music video vehicle." If she
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hadn't been in it - if the film hadn't had a Name - it might have stayed
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small, more real. "I don't blame any one except myself," she says.
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Winona knows she is a big star, a personality a studio can build a
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production around. She is one of very few such women, and the only one of
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her generation. This Christmas she stars as Jo in Little Women, and while
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the cast is an ensemble of fine actors - Susan Sarandon as Marmee, Gabriel
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byrne as Professor Bhaer, Eric Stoltz as John Brooke - it is her name that
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appears above the title. "Certainly little women became a reality because
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of Winona's participation," says Mark Canton, chairman of Columbia/TriStar.
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Winona can afford to be choosy now, but she has always been choosy.
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She turned down an offer to do Sydney Pollack's remake of Sabrina: Audrey
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Hepburn so defined the role that she felt uneasy about re-creating it. The
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story worried her too - the fact that Sabrina is a "prize" shutlled between
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brother. She has made a habit of refusing roles in films she finds sexist,
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sill, gratuitously violent. Most movies "blend," she says. Hers don't.
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Her films can be quirk or dark - Beetlejuice, Edward Sissorhands, Heathers,
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Bram Stoker's Dracula - but few are bland, and none fit a fomula. She
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cannot be seduced, says Denise Di Novi, who has produced three of her
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movies. "Ninety percent get persuaded by people around them--'You have to
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do this part, work with this director.' But you can have fifty people in a
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room telling Winona what to do, and if she dosen't want to do it, forget
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it." This goes for all tasks met in the line of movie-star duty: For a
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recent fashion magazine spread, she balked at modeling the clothing.
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"Corsets," she says, disgusted, "push-up things. Transparent things."
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Weeks later, near baltimore: Boys is on. What happened was, Winona
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called Stacy. They patched things up, the script was restored. "The only
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reason it worked out is because of the conversation," Winona says. "I'm
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really happy about that."
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She has spent most of the morning lying in a nearby field - her
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character has just been thrown from the horse - but now it's time for lunch
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under a tent. Bundled in a bulky green parka against the October breeze,
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she sits at a long table with cast and crew. As usual, she loses interest
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in her food and opts for talking. There's a lot of back-and-forth about
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things, but Winona gets the most stories in. Everyone who knows her,
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remarks on what a good storyteller she is, though even her mother convays
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that she is inclined to embellish here and there.
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One story: she dreamed that director Richard Attenborough had died
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in a plane that crashed against a snowy mountain. It was so weird she
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called Attenborough's office to tell him not to fly that day. Although he
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had already switched a scheduled flight, the plane he had been booked on did
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crash...against a snowy mountain. Winona tells this gravely, like a ghost
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story.
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A brief discussion follows, about death and reincarnation. "I told
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my mother I wanterd to kill myself so I could see what it was like after,"
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says Winona. Some one askes, "How old were you?" "About six," she says,
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sipping lemonade.
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If Winona is apt to exaggerate - "I like to enhance," she says, "I
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don't ever lie" - she is also given to a kind of artless self-exposure, as
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if she hasn't yet learned, or resists knowing, that most adults keep certain
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things under wraps. She talks about an anxiety attack on a plane - "the
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stewardesses had to hold me." A favorite adjective is "terrifying." This
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quality is not calculated, but it is cultivated. Michal McDowell, who
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co-wrote Beetlejuice and lived for a life time in an apartment above her's
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in L.A., says her innocence is "self-conscious" but genuine: "She understands
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how she comes off. She made a choice to be innocent, and that's not to
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suggest that there isn't any thing false about it. She's innocent through
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and through."
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She has an almost mystical revernce for children and teenagers, for
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their freshness and candor. On the Little Women set she played mother hen
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to the younget women in the cast, and several of her close friends are under
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the age of 12. At the moment, she is smitten with Spencer Vrooman, 12 who
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is in the cast of Boys and is lunching with her. She believes it is time for
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Spencer to learn a musical instrument "Choose your weapon," she says.
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"Gee-tar!" says Spencer.
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So after lunch Winona gives him a lesson. She shows him how to hold
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the instrument, how to wrap his fingers around the neck. She compliments
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him lavishly. "You totaly have more of a knack than most people I know,"
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she says. "You were born to rock." Spencer beams. Some days later, she
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buys him his own guitar.
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She is acutely sensitive to the young and small, the weak, the
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preyed-upon and the unprotected. When Ian Hamilton wrote a prying biography
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of her literary hero the reclusive J.D. Salinger, she wrote a smarmy, short,
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bogus biography of Hamilton and sent it to him, "just to show you," she
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wrote, "what it feels like." She herself is in a possession of a Christmas
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card signed by Salinger, a troubling totem: He's a private man. Shouldn't
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she return this item that once belonged to him?
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The sexual abuse of children is a recurring theme in her
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conversation - she talks about it. Last year she reaced with extraordinary
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passion to the abdution of a child, Polly Klaas, in Petaluma, Calif., where
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she spent part of her own childhood. She offered a 200,000 dollar reward
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for Polly's safe return, manned phones, went on a search for her,
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befriended her sister, Annie. Vulnerability and fear are threaded through
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discussions of Winona's growing-up. She talks about real-life kidnapping
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cases that took place when she was young - a baby snatched, a boy never
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found - and says she "would lie in bed and be scared." Her mother remembers
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her, at 12 or 13, asking for bars on her windows because a serial killer was
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on the loose and rumored to be in norther California.
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Her family is large and loving and not average. Her parents, Michael
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and Cindy Horowitz, have edited a book of Aldous Huxley's essays about
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mind-altering drugs and a collection of women's writings on drug experiences.
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(Michael is a bookdealer specializing in the '60s; Cindy is writing a
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screenplay about Louisa May Alcott, a longtime fascination.) Inevitably,
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Winona has been labeled: The Girl Who Grew Up in a Commune; Timothy Leary's
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Goddaughter. Asked about Leary, she begins gamely - "he's a great guy" - but
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runs out of steam. "None of that stuff interests me," she says. (She says
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she is "terrified" of drugs.) A pause. Well, here's someting to say.
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"Every time you think he's senile, he's not."
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About the commune, where she lived from ages seven to 11, she says,
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teasingly, "Everyone grew there own everything. If you know what I mean."
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Also, less lightly: "For a kid to watch a bad drug trip is terrifying."
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Finally: "I have some great memories and some terrible memories." She
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didn't like the lack of structer or the nudity. To this day she does not Do
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Nude and has said she can't imagine it.
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She loves her parents - by all accounts good, gentle, generous
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people - and talks about them a lot. Her father sends her comics and
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newspaper clips, cooks her pasta when she is home. Her mother "finds the
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good in everything, everyone." But the daughter is differnt. Says Dave:
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"My parents leanded to the conservative side, and hers leaned to the
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liberal. We're both overcompensating."
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Driving home after the day in the meadow: Winona is describing a
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director she has met several times. "He's just uncouth - as Judy Holliday
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would say," she concludes, raising her voice so that it is fluty, prim, the
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verbal equivalent of an extended pinkie. How many 23-year-olds use Judy
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Holliday as a point of reference? Among actors William Holden and Barbara
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Stanwyck are her abiding heroes, beloved for making difficult characters
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sympathetic, but she has other: Greer Garson, Bettecia Neal, Joanne Woodward,
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Ginger Rogers, Jessica Tandy, Anne Bancroft and, of course, Audrey hepburn.
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"They didn't all have the same tricks up their sleeve," she says of
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actresses. "Each had a different look in her eye."
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"She's seen more movies than I have," says Little Women director
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Gillian Armstrong. When the family lived in the commune, cindy Horowitz ran
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an informal film society and took her kids to the screenings. When they
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left the commune, they got a TV set. Cindy, says Winona, "would sit us down
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and talk us through the old films." Winona found something to love in
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movies - particulary dark films from the '40s, but even Tammy Tell Me True.
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She draped her bedroom window in black so she could watch movies all the
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time. "I wanted to live in a theater," she says. "You know, take out the
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seats put a bathtub in."
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She had more time to watch movies than other kids did. "I didn't
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have a single friend," she says. For a year, she didn't even go to school.
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On the third day of seventh grade she was roughed up by tough kids - she had
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been taken for an effeminated boy - and was put on home study. Wasn't this
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traumatic? "It was great," she insists: if she hadn't left school, she
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wouldn't have started classes at the American Conservatory Theater, wouldn't
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have got an agent...The bullies, she says, "gave me my career."
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The story is a bit tidy; maybe it has lost its pain in the retelling.
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She tried going back to school, says her mother, but she remained
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"different." The other girls conspired to unsettle her; whenever she looked
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up, they were staring at her. "Noni was so miserable and stubborn," Cindy
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says. "She went down on her knees and said, 'Mom, I'm not going another
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day.'"
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Winona did eventually go back to school, and did make friends - girls
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who shared her taste in punk rock and punky clothes. But by this time she
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was, in a way, alredy gone. She Was Winona Ryder, no longer Horowitz and
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alredy making movies.
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She grew up on film sets. She got her first period while making
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Lucas and had her breasts strapped down for square dance. During the filming
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of Mermaids she kept her Walkman clamped to her head, listing to "Sixteen
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Blue," the replacements' lovely, sad song about teenage loneliness. "My
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character was such a teenager," she says, and pauses. "I was such a
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teenager."
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She met Johnny Depp when she was 17, six months before they made
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Edward Scissorhands. The romance was intense and unstable - "embarrassingly
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dramatic." By 19, during Age of Innocence, things were seriously wrong. She
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coverd up: "It was acting like everything was O.K.- smiling. I was being
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watched all the time." Deep was only part of her "identity crisis." Years
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of work, of "dealing with who people want you to be," had all taken a toll.
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A doctor diagnosed "anticipatory anxiety" and "anticipatory nostalgia,"
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whatever that is. ("I don't think I have that," says Winona.) He gave her
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pills for sleep. It got so she coulden't fall asleep without them. "I got
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over it. I have Michelle Pfeiffer to thank for that. She told me to flush
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them down the toilet." But the depression lasted. Her parents came to visit
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her in Portugal, but she didn't see them much. The girl who dosen't drink
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"tried to be an alcoholic for two weeks." Alone in her hotel room, she
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would make screwdrivers from the minibar, smoke cigarettes, play Tom Waits's
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doleful album Nighthawks at the dinner. One night she fell asleep with a
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lit cigarette. She woke up before any thing caught fire, but that was it for
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her dalliance with drink. Having hit bottom, she started to climb up. "I
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havent't been back," she says, "and I wouldn't ever want to return."
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A final day in baltimore: Winona has sent Salinger his Christmas
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card. It was the right thing to do. Now snuggling with Dave, she says
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she's giving up her New York apartment. She wants to move to a smaller
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city - Seattle, maybe. She has a friend there, and it's pretty, and she
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thinks it might be a nice place to raise children. Dave smiles, letting her
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talk.
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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AH! Did you catch that ending? That bastard doesn't really love
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her, he's just USING her...he doesn't care about a future with her at all.
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It's ashame people must take advantage of such beauty and innocence that
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Winona has. Listen everyone...you might laugh at me now...but in the
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future, you will see. You will be sorry for laughing then! They called me
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CRAZIE! But I'm not... I'm right.. they will all be sorry when we are
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married! WINONA! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! NONI - Call Mogel-Land today!
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| Mogel-Land........2157323413 /I'm a PiG\ Isis Unveiled......5129305259 |
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| Hacker Crackdown..2159451907 |H )\@_@/( P| Undercity..........2096833673 |
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| T.E.K.A.T.........9088132738 |o ( (o) ) i| phunkyphatphreashphunkphunk!! |
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| I Forget..........6105448001 |G <_O_> G| the NEXT generation |
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| /<RaD-/<-/< House.8103480421 |s BuUuRP! s| of stoopid... |
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| Symphony'o'Sick...2017283881 \I'm a PiG/ |
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Copyright (c) 1994 HoE Publications #39 --> 12/12/94
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All rights Reserved for Winona on her Wedding Day with Mogel.
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