"Did Mortimer ever get back to you?" I can't believe it's been three weeks since Larry fiddlesticked the captain of the blue team. Pennies and nickels fly by in the wisp of a rat lash, and I'm still here figuring out what to do with all this brown gravy. Throw it in the river? Can't. Won't. Mortimer doesn't even own a river, let alone comprehend throwing. It's not a science, people. It's a math.
Cry about it all you want, this gravy is here to stay.
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