After helping my mom move on Saturday, my left leg has 17 separate, distinguishable bruises, my right leg, 30.
I look more or less like a remainder apple left in the bottom of the bushel.
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In which I attempt to commit every blogging sin: writing incessantly about local trivia, sex, religion, and boring personal memories; giving unsolicited advice; offending all who read through crass assumptions. The works.
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