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Monday, April 03, 2006

'Git er' out of my face, Larry.

Okay, you know what Larry? Don't.

Just... don't.

You sir are no Fletch. Hell, neither is Chevy Chase anymore, but that's not the point.

Sit your retarded hillbilly ass in the corner and wait untill someone tells you to come out again. I'd wager it'll be around the fifth of never.

If you must go to the bathroom, you'll just have to make in your pants. It'll be gross, but i'm pretty sure one good set of messed underpants will give someone of your comedic calibur about 12 hours of material.

So, your welcome.


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