...ends like a torture chamber. Checking out my truculent and uncooperative jaw. I grow weary of flattening my food so I can fit it in my mouth. Soon all I'll be able to eat will be cheese singles and that pounded Swedish chicken dish Mom used to make. Mmmm.
Real sweet case of knit-hat-head at the end. Damn this unrelenting cold! It's a movie, Mom, click the thingee...
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