Tuesday, December 16, 2003 |
20:20 - Blame Kris
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In a hole in the ground there lived a dictator.
Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing to sit down on or to eat: it was a spider-hole, and that means discomfort.
Not my fault. I'm serious.
Oooh, ooh-- What did the spider say to the rat? "Can I share your hole? Mine's infested."
(If you groaned, that one's Kris' too.)
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