184 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
184 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
______ ______ ______________
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\ / \ / ____ \ ______|
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| |________| | / \ | |____
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| ________ | ( {} ) | _____)
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/~~~~~~~~~~~ | | | | \____/ | |______ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~\
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| |~~~~~~~ / \ / \ / | ~~~~~~~~~| |
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| | |______| |______| /_____________| | |
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| | ...Hogs of Entropy Text Files Present... | |
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| | "The Cherished Illusion" | |
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| | By: Dead Cheese | |
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\ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ /
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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The sun rises. A handful of birds sing their morning songs. Perhaps they
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are sparrows, maybe cardinals. Jim doesn't know. They're all the same to
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him, though they fill his head with the melodious resonance of nature's
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musical talent.
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As he strolls toward the paper stand that waits conveniently down the
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street, he passes by neighbors and acquaintances; each receiving a cheerful
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greeting. He notices his belt is rather tight and he loosens it a notch.
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"Hmm. . . Perhaps I've gained some weight," he thinks. "I'll have to
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start jogging again."
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"Hello, Jim!"
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"Well, hello Theodore! How goes it?" Jim replies cheerfully.
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"Hell, Jim! Things just couldn't be better! The Misses is goin' to have
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another child, you know. I hope it's a boy this time, Jim. It's something
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wonderful to come home to my two beautiful daughters, but I want a boy, Jim.
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A man can't have a family without a young spirit runnin' around playin' with
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the dog an' gettin' into all kinds o' young mischief."
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"I'd have to agree with you, Theodore. Playing games with my boy is one
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of the pleasures of life. I'll just take my mail and the news here and I'll
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be out of your way now, Theodore. Good day."
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"Well alright now, Jim! You take care of that boy of yours an' tell the
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wife I said hello!"
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As Jim turns and walks back toward his home, he thinks about Theodore. . .
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"Such a nice man. Always so cheerful. I've been coming to him for years
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now. Every day. I wonder why I hadn't heard of his wife's pregnancy
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sooner."
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He shifts the newspaper and the envelopes from his left hand to his right
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and tucks them under his arm so as to relieve his thumb and fingers from the
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strain of holding such a weight.
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"I hope she has a boy. Michael's such a good son. I'm lucky to have him.
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He's getting older now. Could be in the Taming even."
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When he reaches the door of his house, he shifts the papers to his left
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hand; again holding them hanging down between his thumb and fingers. He then
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grasps the rounded knob on his side of the beige colored wood with his right
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hand and turns it until he hears a click and feels the knob give a slight
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jump in his hand. He simultaneously pulls on the knob and rotates clockwise
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with his right foot swinging back to stand side-by-side with his left, facing
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the now open solid plank of painted wood. He then steps through the doorway
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and closes the door behind him.
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It is a modest home. A well-kept home. A home to be proud of. "Maggie!
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Are you up?" he shouts as he walks toward the kitchen.
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"Yes, Jim! I'm in the kitchen!" she shouts even as the clump-clump of
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Jim's boots hitting the smooth, white tile of the kitchen floor is heard.
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The kitchen is a bright room with white walls surrounding an oak table in
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the center. These walls have seen the life and times of this family. Every
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morning. Every day. Every night.
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At the table sits a young man with about two decades of life in his face.
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His sandy blond hair strays into his eyes occasionally, and, with a motion
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that he has performed too often for him to notice anymore, he pushes the
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rogue hairs back into place. His emerald green eyes are dull from the
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monotony of eating a breakfast that he eats all too often and is bored with,
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yet an undeniable sparkle of intelligence burns through those shrouded orbs
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and speaks of dreams and expectations that will surely be fulfilled.
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A woman of unearthly grace turns from the now closed pantry and moves
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toward the table. As she takes her seat, her eyes meet those of her
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husband's and a flash of fire flames to life in her crystal blue eyes. She
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then lowers her eyes to the table, seats herself, and the fire is dimmed for
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now.
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"Good morning, family!" Jim exclaims as he seats himself.
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"Good morning, Jim," answers Maggie. "What've you got in the mail?"
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"Well, I haven't looked yet, dear," he says as he hands the envelopes to
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his wife. "Here you are."
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"Thank you, Jim."
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Jim unfolds the newspaper, looks at the front page, and snorts. "Taming
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Takes The Town" he reads aloud. "I'm sick of this paper always making biased
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reports of the Taming. Always babbling on and on about how 'outdated' it is
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and that it's a throwback to ancient times. What a lot of rubbish."
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"Seems rather pointless to me, Pa. I don't see what good it does us, even
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though it's -supposed- to teach us humility or some junk like that," says the
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young man without taking his eyes off his nearly finished breakfast.
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"Look, Jim!" Maggie interjects quickly. "A letter from Steven!"
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"I'll tell you what good it is," Jim says heatedly, ignoring the letter
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that has been thrust into his face. "First off, it's tradition. This world
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has gone through some mighty changes and I'm not about to see yet another
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piece of our culture thrown aside like so much garbage. Second, it brings
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in. . ."
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". . .Twenty percent of this town's yearly revenue," Michael interrupts in
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bored tones.
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"That's right. And our town needs that money to pay for things like your
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school!" exclaims Jim.
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"Honey, maybe if we brought him with us this time he'd understand," Maggie
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says patiently.
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"Well, he's old enough. . . Alright. We'll go today. It only lasts three
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days."
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* * *
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"Look, Maggie. Those seats are open again. For the past six Tamings,
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it's been the same seats. We'll sit there."
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"Sounds good, Jim," Maggie answers as Jim walks toward the seats.
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They aren't the best seats, but they're above an entrance for those for
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those who might enter the stadium floor. This affords an onlooker with not
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only an unobstructed view, but perhaps a close look at those who would
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participate in the Taming.
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As Jim, Maggie, and Michael take their respective seats, a great, fat man
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waddles slowly out of the entrance on the opposite side of the stadium from
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the chosen seats. His clothes are sharp and tell of wealth. They are
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tailored to fool the eye into believing the wearer's girth is something less
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than what it is. When the fat man reaches the center of the stadium, he
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bellows a great call.
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"Citizens, Visitors, children. . . Watchers On! The Taming is our
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culture. It guides the means and ways of thought and teaching that defines
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us as us. . ."
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The lips of every man and woman move in unison with those of the fat man.
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". . . The Taming is everlasting. It defies the whips and lashing throes
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of time eternal. . ."
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The silent mouths gain voices built only to a whisper, yet the whispers of
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many are thunderous.
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". . . The Taming is immortal life. It begins with the past and ends in
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the future. . ."
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The voices are no longer whispers. The terrific shouting of thousands
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makes the very Earth vibrate with their song and threatens to crumble the
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foundation of the stadium to the dust of its ruinous past.
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"THE-TAMING-IS-BLACK-DEATH!"
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The great, thunderous roar of the masses soars into the heavens. This
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immense call of raw emotion seems not to come from mere humans, but surely
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must be the firey screams of gods and demons scorned.
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The fat man raises a hand above his head. All is silent. The thunder
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rolls away, yet is not gone. The red faces of the now standing people speak
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of fury behind walls that must surely crumble under their burdenous strain.
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Were these people uniformed and screaming for war, nations would bow before
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them.
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"Michael Gaul."
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The name is said. All but three are seated now.
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"Pa?" The young one is confused.
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"I would not have thought it could happen to us," says Jim.
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"Pa!" He is angry.
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"It is time, my son."
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"PA!" Betrayed.
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Two large men wearing ornamental uniforms appear beside Michael and Jim.
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"We all must do our part," says the first.
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"We cannot stop what must be done," says the second.
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"We must go," says Jim.
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The two men escort Jim and Michael to a stairway that runs down to the
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stadium floor. They walk to the center where the fat man waits with a fixed,
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placid expression on his face. Michael stands facing the fat man. Jim is
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facing the space between them. One of the large men draws his fine steel
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sabre and drives it into the ground at Jim's feet. The two men walk away.
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The fat man draws a small golden dagger from his pocket. Pricking Michael
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in the left shoulder with the sharp point of the dagger, he intones, "This is
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for the sins of the past."
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He pricks Michael in the right shoulder and says, "This is for the sins of
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the present."
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The fat man places the tip of the dagger against Michael's forehead and
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chants, "This is for the sins that must never come to pass."
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He presses the dagger into Michael's skin. A trickle of blood runs down
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from the wound and along the side of Michael's nose only to die at his lips.
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The fat man turns from Michael and addresses the crowd, "This is the end
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of the beginning! What is now forever shall be!"
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He then turns and faces Jim.
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"You must."
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"I shall."
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Jim reaches down and extracts the sabre from the earthen floor. Holding
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it with his right hand, he raises the sabre above his head. As his arm
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descends, the sun flashes on the sharp edge of the sabre and in the rounded
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form of a single tear rolling down the cheek of a woman who knows.
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|=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=|
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| _____ Call Goat Blowers Anonymous for the LATEST HoE! _____ |
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| 6/ ^..^ (215) 750 - 0392 ^..^ \9 |
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| \_____(oo) This Issues Featured Support Board is: (oo)_____/ |
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| WW WW Full Metal Jacket WW WW |
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| (203)531-7626 |
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| ...the kings of modern goofiness... |
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|=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=|
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Copyright (c) 1995 HoE Publications and Dead Cheese. #81 -> 06/16/95
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All rights Reserved.
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