"I don't understand why my sister insists on making anything from scratch for Thanksgiving. It doesn't make that much of a difference in how things taste."
Shoot me in the face right now. Do it.
Rhymin' Wreckers
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What if cakes were the last lines in really bad poems?
Come, my friends. LET US DREAM TOGETHER.
*Work anniversary Head of the class A lousy coffee c...
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