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Lunch Break by Ray Printer Friendly

The mysterious, infallible they. Holding you back, holding you down, holding you everywhere except for where you want to be held. The evil bastards who jerk you off of your feet and toss you around, from one to another, until youíre too confused to know who to hate.

Heretics by the half-mileóscreaming, raving lunatics who have seen one too many movies about the wonders of modern science. Twisted whispers: promises made and forgotten, utter panic every time you try to listen.

We canít even pretend to believe anymore; itís easier and more efficient to be smug and get back to our business as soon as possible. And if no one understands, what has been gained? What is the point of screaming into the night if itís two in the afternoon?

ManÖI ate so much spaghetti, Iím probably going to die.


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