. \"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. “You have a boyfriend! That’s fine by me, it’s your business, but you’d better stop sneaking around because Sheila’s got eyes in the back of her head!” He heard Sheila utter a loud percussive blast of a snore from the master bedroom. A sense of loss was amongst us. The noose was at its throat when I called for help. Wow. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures.
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