Nine Figs in the Flapjack ch.5, p.2


Whirk is No Longer a Four-Letter Word
That’s me (more or less) on the left.  I’m writing this while watching Mystery Science Theater 3000, so it’s a little hard to concentrate on what I’m writing.  In the past I listened to Jazz while writing because anything with vocals in it distracted me from my own words.  But now I just don’t care.  I’m the boss and I declare how things are done.   The machine my crooked-toothed redneck accuser is riding is an infantosnake.  Cameras record the encounter.  Don’t pick your nose.
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