Within the last couple months, two men high above their respectable tree houses found themselves in pickles of their own making, and let’s also grant them victims of bad luck — aw, hell, I lost my notes.  I actually copied down a few things off the Netberger about these two birds, er, pickles.  I’m trying better myself; maybe document my rantings — you ever try that?  Never mind, I screwed up: I grieve, I starve.  Why should you pay more than a dollar?  So send me a dollar.

You can read about these two men of who drank as much as Roman emperors, when I find my notes.  I want my notes.  Don’t forget me.  Why should I have to suffer?  All this damn legal paper looks alike.


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