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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
As Henry tumbled head over heels, the air rushing by faster and faster as he passed through the clouds—up, down, he couldn’t tell—and their wet, cold dew leapt onto him, clinging to his skin and clothes, he realized just how easy stepping off of the precipice of enlightenment had been, and even though he had not a single clue where he was going or what awaited him at the end of his tumble—if indeed there was an end, or if indeed it was really he that tumbled and not the world around him, although at this point he somehow knew instinctively that it mattered very little—he closed his eyes, smiling, arms folded lightly across his chest as the roar of the universe gradually faded, lower and dimmer until finally all that Henry could hear was the warm silent welcome of his return home.
“All this enlightenment malarkey is nothing more than smoke and mirrors”, she told the bartender, who, a moment later, was more than a little surprised when the woman became enveloped in a cloud of colours, was gently entwined with ribbons of scents, was suffused in a glorious cacophony of sounds, and disappeared ecstatically and without a trace.
Snapping the top of the whiskey bottle off in her teeth, she straightened her shoulders, took a large chug, and dove.
The turducken is the result of a mid flight migratory accident and not a delicacy, although if you are a person who enjoys Rocky Mountain oysters and jellied cranberries then eating a duck embedded in a turkey’s ass is most likely gourmand.
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