Rotter got out of bed, muttering something about "that fucking dodgy latch again". He walked over to the door, slammed it shut and bolted it. "Sort it out in the morning."
The End.
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Fist is a four letter word. So is fist, fist, fist, fist, fist, fist fist, fist, fist, fist, fist, and, well you get the fist-fucking picture....
THE WESTCOUNTRY SHALL RISE AGAIN!
Yay! It's pink!
Don't think.... FEEL!
We're Englishmen, and we came here, to rape your women and drink your beer.
I went back in time and voted for Hitler.
Pouring oil on troubled waters since 2008. Then lighting a fucking match.
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