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Fred drowns his sorrow in a cup of mead at the local Pizza Hut. Literally
a pizza hut. A hut made of pizzas, though they serve burritos. Burritos
with jalepenos, to be precise. That evening he is stricken with the worse
bloating of his life and his foul emissions fill the night air with their
powerful bursts of methane gas. This gives him inspiration for his next
poem, entitled: ‘Ass Blasta Masta’ It goes like this...I
blast ass fasta Once again, Fred shows it to his friends.
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1/13/2005 5:38:43 PM
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