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There's so damned little of it, I can't think of any reason to even consider puttin' it under some machine that will swallow a Durango, a Hummer r' my Stewie n' "universally" fit them all.
'Sides . . if I don't get aroun' to washin' it . . God does it. 'Wouldn't wanna deny me my religious beliefs now . . would'ja?
Be well. (n' fer cryin' out loud . . grab a bucket n' a soft, clean rag)
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In life-long pursuit of that most mythic of beasts: the ever-elusive perfect corner. Well . . . that, r' at least a whole lodda clear spin-out room.
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