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'Miaow', you think to yourself, and lick your paws. Remembering your childhood spent running errands on the somme, you simulate machine gun noises at your owner. She picks you up and throws you out of the second floor window...

You are a fudge demon, desperately trying to cast of the shackles of negative association by insanely convincing youself you are the owner of a secondary persona that encroaches on your ability to make rational decisions.

Uh oh. No one's written this branch yet. :o

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excerpt from Wilson the Photohopper   by stonewall

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