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...h out the fuzzy cement-like mixture.

You are starting to explain that, while you'd love to help him out, "wouldn't ya know it," tonight is your weekly court-appointed rage therapy session, when...

"GRRRRRRupt-Sploishhh-RAAAAAAAAA!!"

An unearthly sound erupts from the depths of your belly.  You are suddenly reminded by your severe hunger pangs that finding nourishment is still of the utmost importance.  However, sensing a moment of weakness and now apparently favouring Haiku, Chet begins his tactless entreaty,

"With no place to go

  Would it be such a bother?

  Let me stay at yours?"

You feel the Hanger rising - the perfect storm of hunger and anger manifested in low blood sugar-induced irritability.  It has reached a threshold level and the last thing you want is to listen to another "poetic" communiqué from this bozo.  Turning and running, you must find something to eat.  Fast.

In the distance you hear the prayer gong on Lhopsang's cart of Nepalese goodies. Salivating uncontrollably you head for the sound.

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

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