White Weewoos don't exist. *shifty eyes* |
Circulation: 177,117,051 |
Issue: 324 | 4th day of Sleeping, Y10 |
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Post-Christmas Blues
It happens every year: at the end of January, your owner comes up to you and says grimly, "We need to talk." You go into the living room and sit down next to the Christmas tree, lovingly caressing the now wilting branches along with your brothers and sisters, who are doing the same thing. Your owner sits down across from you and says, gently, "I know it may be hard for you to understand, but it's time to let go." You start to tremble. No... no, it can't be, your owner surely can't—
Other Stories
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A Life Less Interesting: Part Three "Quit? Dear boy, don't talk such nonsense. Why would you want to quit this job? You get to see the world!" Jones laughed, stretching out his arms to somehow indicate the world was apparently the length of his desk...
by herdygerdy |
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