Pickles

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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