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Growing up with snowflake, one learned to drink their sap in the morning. There was no time for globe-girdling as we chased the bears though the jungle of oil refineries, then were eaten like pudding by Lyndon B. Johnson. "Let's get away from the sea!" I remember thinking. Robin sails home to tell the tale. "May this car bring you happiness," he begins. "It's rotunda is all you expect Japan to be. The sky is our home. The earth is our winding path. As the wheel spins, the pot forms clarified butter." Robin always speaks of butter as a mother would. He's prone to dream of beautiful maiden cats and lovely lands. He hates the sea. He says snowflake is too heavy for most tree limbs to support. Once again, he is right. Get a shovel.

You will find yourself at war with the sea. Try again later.


Milestones
the commune's scratch 'n sniff look at last year's office potluck


Opportunities
Pants a Capitalist

Free Virus Baggies

Take a Kitten, Please

the commune book selections
the commune's Bear in Rearview
the commune's Big Book of Duke
Faces of the commune
the commune 100: Leaders and Revolutionaries
the commune 100: Traitors and Noodledicks






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