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DispatchFactbookMiscellaneous

by The island nation of butan. . 22 reads.

проклятие

My body drifts through empty space. A figure looms in the distance. I try to call out but I can’t. It doesn't matter though. I’m drifting closer. Oh crap it’s my ex. Orville Redenbacher glares down at my wriggling body, a smile glued to his soft, wrinkly face. I see my bloody face in the reflection of his glasses. He nibbles on my ear. I see a shovel in his hands. His soothing voice whispers in my ear: “You look butter than last time I saw you babe. It’s time to pop your corn”. The shovel sinks into my chest slowly. Every thing turns red, but is it really red?

The island nation of butan

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