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Swallowed by its shadow the groundhog was gone and duped by its absence the day went on and on and the rooster crowed until it was horse and it whinnied and snorted and bucked the systemic elimination of waste products and exploded into a fragrant beige sunset but the farmer in the john knew what was up must come down spinning wheelbarrow so much depends upon a redskin with a Washington tomahawk to make a grown man cry me an old river sung by the fat lady lucky my Uncle Vanya’s cherry orchard wasn’t chopped down by George I think I’ve got an idea for a nursery rhyme of the ancient day that never ends up like my old man who never worked a day in his life insurance is honestly the best policy when you are Lincoln logging appendages for the less fortunate sons of the resolution that this year you will lose weight if it costs you an arm and a hammer and a sickle selling sea anemones by the dozen because your cheap date won’t pay the fair to meddling Parker who won’t take nose for an answer to the big questions of Life a Milton Bradley and not a Parker Bros game for ages seven and up up and away in my beautiful baloney has a first name it’s oh I see a scar on your arson nephew’s hand that held a match to the tale of a combustible stud that once was a rooster and though it never was a disappearing groundhog it may as well have been.
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