All I need is one TV channel that shows murder and mayhem suitable for folding clothes by.
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If you’re a detective interrogating a suspect in what looks like an open-and-shut case, but there are still twenty
minutes left in the episode, you have the wrong guy.
I admire those guys on that TV commercial who dance around in outfits as pink as plastic flamingos and sing about digestive disorders. That really takes…uh…guts.
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