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Piss, Shit, and a Fucking Monkey

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 13:41:41 EDT
Rating: 1.53 on 45 ratings (45 reviews) (Review this item) (V)

A few weekends back, my friend Candy and I went to a bar called The Mille. From the outside I expected it to be the kind of place that had dead ferrets hanging from the ceiling and grim-looking people talking about what went wrong with their lives. I told Candy to dress down expecting the creepy drunk potential to be quite high but was surprised when I entered and found a raucous, albeit older, crowd inside.

The actual bar was relatively small, only a 10-seater, with a big rustic glass mirror behind it and a swarthy bartender dripping sweat into the mixed drinks. Many of the patrons were standing around, singing along to Elton John songs on the overhead speakers (“Don’t let the sun fall down on me!”) though others were relatively quiet, grouped around the four or five tables set about 30 feet away from the bar proper. Candy and I waited by the door with some guys making song requests to no one in particular. “Walk like an Egyptian would rule,” one kept saying. “that or Desperado.” After about ten minutes we were able to snag some seats at the bar.

We started slow, drinking Sam Adams and pointing out all the nice little quirks. There was a telephone booth set into the wall below and to the right of a spiral staircase. The door was painted black with a diamond-shaped window showing a dim light within. To the left of that was a single bathroom with the word “head” written in flaky red paint and to the left of that was the entrance-way to the kitchen. The fluorescent light from the kitchen was striking compared to the warm tones all around us and occasionally a silhouette would emerge—some cook or dishwasher trying to take in some of the air conditioning.

At about 9 a rumor started to circulate. Someone who knew the owner said that there was a monkey in the cellar. Upon asking, the bartender begrudgingly confirmed this. He said that the owner’s friend was a dealer in exotic animals and that he needed a place to keep the monkey for the night. Of course, once this information got out everyone wanted to see the monkey and as the drinks flowed, they started demanding to see the monkey. Finally, to avoid a riot, the bartender agreed to let people through the kitchen and down into the cellar, but only two at a time and for five bucks each.

People began going down and after ten or fifteen minutes would come back laughing and making Outbreak jokes. One pair claimed Patrick Dempsey was dead by the cage, bleeding from all orifices. Another came up and said that Cuba Gooding Jr. was laying in wait down there, biding his time until he could tranq it.

At about ten the crowd had doubled and some were barely able to stand. One old guy walked in off the street drunk out of his mind, with brown stains on the back of his pants. Whether he had shit himself that night or ten nights ago, I couldn’t tell you. People pointed and laughed, he took it as applause and began spinning in circles. Disgusted, the bartender pushed through the crowd and sidled up to him. “Jesus, Roger, go home.” But Roger just smiled and began spinning again. Eventually the bartender managed to escort him out, but not before someone started a “Shit! Shit! Shit!” chant.

At 11, I was still drinking Sam Adamses but Candy had moved on to shots. She was getting pretty liquored up, but despite my protests kept plowing ahead. Every now and then she would say, “Let’s go see the monkey” and I would tell her “No, I have seen monkeys.”

“Come on! It will be fun”

For the tenth time I told her no, that if she wanted to see the monkey she could do it on her own, that monkey watching did not require backup.

“Fine,” she said.

She took a shot and pushed through the crowd. She got up to the bartender, swayed slightly, and said “Monkey,” putting her finger to her nose in what I assumed to be a secret code.

For her benefit, he winked and she ushered her into the kitchen and pointed down the stairs. It was too busy for him to leave the bar and he had stopped going after the first couple tourists.

Meanwhile, as if the night couldn’t get any crazier, someone had opened the door the telephone booth and found someone pissing against the wall. From my vantage point I could see everything and naturally started laughing. The bartender heard it, heard everyone else’s, and then spotted the guy, leaning against the side, his head resting on the top of the phone.

“Stop that!”

The guy didn’t turn, but continued to piss.

“For fuck's sake.”

The bartender wrestled through the crowd, which had started chanting “Let him finish! Let him finish!” When he got to the guy he shook him by the shoulders, trying to get his attention, and the piss stream shook in turn. Everybody was dying, including me. That’s probably why it took so long to register the new uproar. The guy next to me fell off his chair. People started screaming and laughing and running and pushing against each other in random directions. I turned and saw the reason.

Standing in the kitchen entrance-way was Candy. The monkey was on her head--humping her face.

“He likes me.” She slurred.

The bartender was speechless, his mouth slightly open. I put my head on the bar, laughing. Candy stood there swaying to the beat, her cheek getting jabbed insistently by monkey phallus.

Someone yelled. “She’s infected for sure!”
Another: “Oh no! African Motaba!”
And yet another “Get Dustin Hoffman!”

No one was doing anything, though, except watch and laugh. Since she was my friend, I felt obliged. I saw a cane in an umbrella stand so I grabbed it and walked toward Candy. This was easier because an invisible circle had formed around her and because I was a little drunk myself, feeling less fear than I should have. Slightly buzzed, I took the cane poked the monkey. “Shoo!” People laughed. I did it again and it bared its teeth at me. Then it went back to humping Candy’s face.

Eventually one of the cooks went down and got the cage and he and another patron managed to grab the monkey and shut him inside. After that, people bought Candy and I drinks—for her because she was the adventurer, for me because I was the adventurer’s friend. For the rest of the night people asked her to recount the tale, but she didn’t say much aside from “It was a cute monkey.” At about 1 AM we called a cab and went home.


(Remember Candy, you gave me permission to tell this.)






he was a curious little monkey.gif
he was a curious little monkey.gif


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Submitted by ridiculous at 2010-09-04 06:01:35 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

MY name is Ridiculous and I approve of this message.

Submitted by FilthyMonkey at 2010-09-03 21:37:24 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

If this is true its hilarious... or at least its a good tall tale

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2010-09-03 17:05:42 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Submitted by spamtrap50 (user info) at 2010-08-13 22:57:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2

Too bad this was Ally's last post, she has some good stuff.

=============================================================

Who said this was my last post?

And are you suggesting this isn't good stuff? I'm hearing tone, friend. Buku Buku tone.

Submitted by spamtrap50 at 2010-08-13 22:57:53 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Too bad this was Ally's last post, she has some good stuff.

Submitted by trifonga at 2010-02-22 19:32:22 EST (#)
Rating: -2

good obama pic

Submitted by pen_name at 2010-02-22 17:57:14 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I change my mind, I believe it.

Submitted by beer-turtle at 2009-07-31 11:22:52 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

Entertaining...but without pics...hard to believe.


Submitted by spuj at 2009-07-30 07:37:44 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

its nice to know im not the only one.

i can finally stop going to 'facehumpedbyamonkey anonimous'

Submitted by SullyThePirate at 2009-07-28 15:30:26 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

It happens to everyone.

Submitted by bustedcompass at 2009-07-27 00:33:54 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Probably a lie, but worth reading.

Submitted by pandora at 2009-07-25 18:27:08 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by DonovanMD at 2009-07-25 03:50:17 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by pen_name at 2009-07-23 17:27:58 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

A nice little tale, but it's obviously horseshit.

Submitted by cheerios at 2009-07-23 15:13:54 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by GaidinCanuck at 2009-07-23 14:18:28 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by kaos-king at 2009-07-23 11:39:07 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by HurtByTheSun at 2009-07-23 08:00:42 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

Needs more rape.

Submitted by F.J.Bell at 2009-07-23 06:38:04 EDT (#)
Rating: 2


She took a shot and pushed through the crowd. She got up to the bartender, swayed slightly, and said "Monkey," putting her finger to her nose in what I assumed to be a secret code.

Submitted by DrogoRoch at 2009-07-23 04:02:46 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

A monkey in a bar? How could that ever be wrong?

Submitted by Berty at 2009-07-23 03:51:38 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

If this is the norm fo you then your life is in stereo. Canadians are so loud, no wonder we use them in so many wars.

Submitted by Sacrilicious at 2009-07-22 23:23:53 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

And here I thought the guy who brings his pet bunny to our corner bar was strange. Well, he IS strange. But no monkeys.

Submitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2009-07-22 18:23:04 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

i[m pretty baked so i believe it

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 17:23:49 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Zut

Submitted by Caulaincourt at 2009-07-22 16:57:43 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

nice story.

the french didn't make any sense.

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 16:51:39 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Oh non! Motaba Afrique

======

Haha, I should have posted this in French to begin with. French is the proper medium for comedic writings.

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 16:47:50 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Formatted to fit your screen and for time

Le bar a été relativement faible, à seulement 10 places, avec un grand verre rustique miroir derrière elle et un barman dégoulinant de sueur basané dans les boissons mélangées. Beaucoup de spectateurs étaient debout autour, en chantant sur les chansons de Elton John sur le rétroprojecteur haut-parleurs ( "Ne laissez pas le soleil tombe sur moi!") Alors que d'autres ont été relativement calmes, regroupées autour de quatre ou cinq tables de 30 pieds loin de la barre de bon. Candy et j'ai attendu près de la porte, avec quelques gars de la chanson demande à personne en particulier. "Walk like an Egyptian se règle», l'un disait. "ou que Desperado". Après une dizaine de minutes, nous avons été capables de s'accrocher à quelques sièges du bar.

Nous avons commencé lentement, boire Sam Adams, et en soulignant toutes les jolies petites bizarreries. Il ya une cabine téléphonique a été mis dans le mur au-dessous et à droite d'un escalier en spirale. La porte a été peinte en noir avec un diamant en forme de fenêtre présentant une faible lumière dans l'. Pour la gauche qui a été d'une unique salle de bains avec le mot «tête» écrit en rouge peinture s'écaille et à la gauche de l'entrée qui a été simple à la cuisine. L'éclairage fluorescent de la cuisine est frappant par rapport à la chaleur tout autour de nous et, parfois, une silhouette se dégagera-cuire certains lave-vaisselle ou d'essayer de prendre à certains de l'air conditionné.

À environ 9 une rumeur commence à circuler. Quelqu'un qui savait que le propriétaire a dit qu'il y avait un singe dans la cave. Sur demande, le barman begrudgingly confirmé. Il a dit que le propriétaire était l'ami d'un marchand d'animaux exotiques et qu'il avait besoin d'un endroit pour tenir le singe pour la nuit. Bien entendu, dès que cette information est sortie tout le monde voulait voir le singe et les boissons a coulé, ils ont commencé à exiger de voir le singe. Enfin, pour éviter une émeute, le barman a accepté de laisser les gens dans la cuisine et le faire descendre dans la cave, mais seulement deux à la fois et pour une durée de cinq dollars chacun.

Les gens ont commencé à descendre et après dix ou quinze minutes de rire et de revenir faire des blagues Outbreak. Une paire affirmé Patrick Dempsey était mort par la cage, des saignements de tous les orifices. Un autre est arrivé et a dit que Cuba Gooding Jr. était à attendre en bas, son temps attente jusqu'à ce qu'il puisse tranq il.

À une dizaine de la foule a doublé et certains ont été à peine capable de se tenir debout. Un vieil homme marchait dans la rue en état d'ébriété de son esprit, avec des taches brunes sur le dos de son pantalon. Que la merde qu'il a lui-même ce soir-là ou il ya dix nuits, je ne pourrais pas vous le dire. Les gens ont ri et fait, il considère que les applaudissements et a commencé à tourner en rond. Dégoûté, le barman a poussé dans la foule et sidled de lui. "Jésus, Roger, go home". Mais Roger juste souri et a commencé à tourner de nouveau. Finalement, le barman a réussi à escorter, mais pas avant que quelqu'un a lancé un "Merde! Merde! Merde!" chant.

A 11 ans, j'étais encore potable Sam Adamses Candy mais a déménagé à coups de feu. Elle a été assez liquored se place, mais, malgré mes protestations conservées labourer à venir. De temps en temps, elle disait: «Allons voir le singe" et je voudrais lui dire "Non, j'ai vu des singes."

"Come on! Il sera fun"

Pour la dixième fois, je lui ai dit non, que si elle voulait voir le singe, elle pourrait le faire sur son propre, que le singe n'a pas besoin de regarder la sauvegarde.

"Fine", dit-elle.

Elle a pris un coup de feu et poussé par la foule. Elle se leva pour le barman, un peu déboussolés, et dit "Monkey", de mettre son doigt dans son nez dans ce que je suppose être un code secret.

Pour sa prestation, il a un clin d'oeil, et elle a inauguré son dans la cuisine et fait descendre les escaliers. Il était trop occupé pour lui de quitter le bar et il avait cessé d'aller après le premier couple de touristes.

Pendant ce temps, comme si la nuit ne pouvait pas obtenir de fou, quelqu'un avait ouvert la porte de la cabine téléphonique et trouvé quelqu'un pisser contre le mur. De mon point de vue je pouvais tout voir et tout naturellement mis à rire. Le barman entendu, entendu de tout le monde, puis a repéré le type, appuyé contre le flanc, sa tête reposant sur le haut du téléphone.

"Arrêtez!"

Le gars n'a pas son tour, mais a continué à pisser.

"Pour fuck's sake."

Le barman battu par la foule, qui avait débuté en chantant «Je lui fini! Laissez-le finir!" Quand il est arrivé à l'homme, il lui secoua par les épaules, en essayant d'attirer son attention, et les flux de pisse secoué à tour de rôle. Tout le monde était en train de mourir, y compris moi. C'est probablement pourquoi il a fallu tant de temps pour enregistrer le nouveau tollé. Le gars à côté de moi est tombé de sa chaise. Les gens ont commencé à crier et à rire et à courir et pousser les uns contre les autres dans les directions. Je me suis retourné et j'ai vu la raison.

Debout dans la cuisine, l'entrée est à sens Candy. Le singe est sur la tête - frotte son visage.

"Il aime-moi». Elle liées.

Le barman a été muet, sa bouche légèrement ouverte. J'ai mis ma tête sur la barre, de rire. Candy était là en se balançant au rythme, elle se joue enfoncé avec insistance par le singe phallus.

Quelqu'un a crié. "Elle est infectée pour sûr!"
Un autre: «Oh non! Motaba Afrique!"
Et encore un autre "Get Dustin Hoffman!

Nul ne faisait quelque chose, même si, à l'exception de veille et de rire. Depuis, elle a été mon ami, je me suis senti obligé. J'ai vu une canne dans un parapluie, je l'attrape et il marchait en direction de Candy. Cela a été plus facile, car un cercle s'était formé autour d'elle et parce que j'avais bu un peu de moi-même, moins le sentiment de peur que je devrais avoir. Légèrement buzzed, j'ai pris la canne à coude le singe. "Shoo!" Les gens riaient. Je l'ai fait à nouveau et il a dénudé ses dents sur moi. Puis il retourna à humping Candy son visage.

Finalement, l'un des cuisiniers est descendu et a la cage et lui et un autre patron a réussi à attraper le singe et de l'extinction à l'intérieur. Après cela, les gens ont acheté et je Candy boissons pour elle car elle a été l'aventurier, pour moi, car j'ai été l'ami de l'aventurier. Pour le reste de la nuit, les gens lui a demandé de raconter l'histoire, mais elle n'a pas dit grand-chose mis à part "C'est un joli singe. À 1 heure du matin environ, nous avons demandé un taxi et rentra à la maison.


(Rappelez-vous Candy, vous m'avez donné la permission de dire à cet égard.)

Submitted by nutsplash at 2009-07-22 16:41:09 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

A few weekends back, my friend Candy and I went to a bar called The Mille. From the outside I expected it to be the kind of place that had dead ferrets hanging from the ceiling and grim-looking people talking about what went wrong with their lives. I told Candy to dress down expecting the creepy drunk potential to be quite high but was surprised when I entered and found a raucous, albeit older, crowd inside.

The actual bar was relatively small, only a 10-seater, with a big rustic glass mirror behind it and a swarthy bartender dripping sweat into the mixed drinks. Many of the patrons were standing around, singing along to Elton John songs on the overhead speakers ("Don't let the sun fall down on me!") though others were relatively quiet, grouped around the four or five tables set about 30 feet away from the bar proper. Candy and I waited by the door with some guys making song requests to no one in particular. "Walk like an Egyptian would rule," one kept saying. "that or Desperado." After about ten minutes we were able to snag some seats at the bar.

We started slow, drinking Sam Adams and pointing out all the nice little quirks. There was a telephone booth set into the wall below and to the right of a spiral staircase. The door was painted black with a diamond-shaped window showing a dim light within. To the left of that was a single bathroom with the word "head" written in flaky red paint and to the left of that was the entrance-way to the kitchen. The fluorescent light from the kitchen was striking compared to the warm tones all around us and occasionally a silhouette would emerge—some cook or dishwasher trying to take in some of the air conditioning.

At about 9 a rumor started to circulate. Someone who knew the owner said that there was a monkey in the cellar. Upon asking, the bartender begrudgingly confirmed this. He said that the owner's friend was a dealer in exotic animals and that he needed a place to keep the monkey for the night. Of course, once this information got out everyone wanted to see the monkey and as the drinks flowed, they started demanding to see the monkey. Finally, to avoid a riot, the bartender agreed to let people through the kitchen and down into the cellar, but only two at a time and for five bucks each.

People began going down and after ten or fifteen minutes would come back laughing and making Outbreak jokes. One pair claimed Patrick Dempsey was dead by the cage, bleeding from all orifices. Another came up and said that Cuba Gooding Jr. was laying in wait down there, biding his time until he could tranq it.

At about ten the crowd had doubled and some were barely able to stand. One old guy walked in off the street drunk out of his mind, with brown stains on the back of his pants. Whether he had shit himself that night or ten nights ago, I couldn't tell you. People pointed and laughed, he took it as applause and began spinning in circles. Disgusted, the bartender pushed through the crowd and sidled up to him. "Jesus, Roger, go home." But Roger just smiled and began spinning again. Eventually the bartender managed to escort him out, but not before someone started a "Shit! Shit! Shit!" chant.

At 11, I was still drinking Sam Adamses but Candy had moved on to shots. She was getting pretty liquored up, but despite my protests kept plowing ahead. Every now and then she would say, "Let's go see the monkey" and I would tell her "No, I have seen monkeys."

"Come on! It will be fun"

For the tenth time I told her no, that if she wanted to see the monkey she could do it on her own, that monkey watching did not require backup.

"Fine," she said.

She took a shot and pushed through the crowd. She got up to the bartender, swayed slightly, and said "Monkey," putting her finger to her nose in what I assumed to be a secret code.

For her benefit, he winked and she ushered her into the kitchen and pointed down the stairs. It was too busy for him to leave the bar and he had stopped going after the first couple tourists.

Meanwhile, as if the night couldn't get any crazier, someone had opened the door the telephone booth and found someone pissing against the wall. From my vantage point I could see everything and naturally started laughing. The bartender heard it, heard everyone else's, and then spotted the guy, leaning against the side, his head resting on the top of the phone.

"Stop that!"

The guy didn't turn, but continued to piss.

"For fuck's sake."

The bartender wrestled through the crowd, which had started chanting "Let him finish! Let him finish!" When he got to the guy he shook him by the shoulders, trying to get his attention, and the piss stream shook in turn. Everybody was dying, including me. That's probably why it took so long to register the new uproar. The guy next to me fell off his chair. People started screaming and laughing and running and pushing against each other in random directions. I turned and saw the reason.

Standing in the kitchen entrance-way was Candy. The monkey was on her head--humping her face.

"He likes me." She slurred.

The bartender was speechless, his mouth slightly open. I put my head on the bar, laughing. Candy stood there swaying to the beat, her cheek getting jabbed insistently by monkey phallus.

Someone yelled. "She's infected for sure!"
Another: "Oh no! African Motaba!"
And yet another "Get Dustin Hoffman!"

No one was doing anything, though, except watch and laugh. Since she was my friend, I felt obliged. I saw a cane in an umbrella stand so I grabbed it and walked toward Candy. This was easier because an invisible circle had formed around her and because I was a little drunk myself, feeling less fear than I should have. Slightly buzzed, I took the cane poked the monkey. "Shoo!" People laughed. I did it again and it bared its teeth at me. Then it went back to humping Candy's face.

Eventually one of the cooks went down and got the cage and he and another patron managed to grab the monkey and shut him inside. After that, people bought Candy and I drinks—for her because she was the adventurer, for me because I was the adventurer's friend. For the rest of the night people asked her to recount the tale, but she didn't say much aside from "It was a cute monkey." At about 1 AM we called a cab and went home.


(Remember Candy, you gave me permission to tell this.)

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 16:17:22 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2009-07-22 14:12:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

How much do you weigh?

===========

125 give or take a few pounds.

Submitted by S.I. Co. at 2009-07-22 15:43:43 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Highly unlikely, but if she didn't finish the poor thing off with at least a handy then she should be ashamed of herself, scamp.

Submitted by Ducky at 2009-07-22 15:17:22 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Ally!

I always find your writing amusing.

Submitted by vexx at 2009-07-22 15:16:21 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Looks like you found Funshine Bear a new friend.

Submitted by Brdn_Nkd at 2009-07-22 15:08:12 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by EmissionImpossible at 2009-07-22 15:03:19 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

-4 for having a friend called candy

+6 for MONKEYS!

Submitted by skrapmetal at 2009-07-22 15:02:29 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

The code that something interesting is about to happen is just looking at someone, swaying slightly, and saying "Monkey". The finger-to-nose thing is optional.

Submitted by monkeyswithguns at 2009-07-22 14:58:27 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Yup, that's generally what we do, that and throw feces.

Submitted by Shlongy at 2009-07-22 14:12:46 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

How much do you weigh?

Submitted by scourge at 2009-07-22 14:00:43 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by AllyJeans (user info) at 2009-07-22 13:57:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0

Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-07-22 13:54:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

wtf? why didn't you want to go see the monkey?

==================

I didn't want to pay five bucks when I could use that money for spirits.

---

answer approved.

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 13:57:05 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2009-07-22 13:54:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1

wtf? why didn't you want to go see the monkey?

==================

I didn't want to pay five bucks when I could use that money for spirits.

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2009-07-22 13:55:37 EDT (#)
Rating: 0

Haha, what's with the hate? Honestly, about 80% of this actually happened, which is an amazing percentage when it comes to my stories.

Submitted by scourge at 2009-07-22 13:54:21 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

wtf? why didn't you want to go see the monkey?

Submitted by HellRazer at 2009-07-22 13:52:10 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

IDK if that's a true story, but it's a good one!

Submitted by Shlongy at 2009-07-22 13:50:17 EDT (#)
Rating: -2

Yeah...this happened...and I was the guy pissing in the phone booth.

Submitted by forensicgirl3 at 2009-07-22 13:48:04 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

ORLY?

Submitted by SkullBiter at 2009-07-22 13:47:50 EDT (#)
Rating: -2

Cunt.

Submitted by SgtHartman at 2009-07-22 13:43:03 EDT (#)
Rating: 1

Ally fucking jeans?


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-- Homer Simpson
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