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I hollered, “Am I on Green Acres?” I caught Toney suppressing laughter as I worked hard to maneuver my substantial set of butt cheeks through the small hole in the side of the house, getting a bunch of black crap all over my jeans in the process. By insult this time I wasn’t insult muttering anymore, I was yelling my “motherfuckers” and “son-of-a-bitches” with much enthusiasm. I somehow got into the garage without knocking my front teeth out, and un-jammed the lock. Toney pushed the button, and insult the door came up. And with perfect timing, the pseudo-husband came around the corner casually munching on some of our food. “What happened?” he asked between lip smacks. After Toney filled him in, he said, “Oh, I may have had something to do with that…” Grrrr. Tuesday night these former (and highly-judgmental) vegans suddenly decided they wanted milk shakes -- he drank one beer, after all that. So they put on a big ten-minute production number deciding where they’d get them, and finally a consensus was reached and Toney and Nancy left in pursuit of filthy, disgusting colon-destroying dairy products.
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