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“He’s gotta gun!” someone shouted as the erratic equine zapped his first
victim; an untidy broad named Sherry who liked puppies and ate lots of
meatloaf and worked for the FBI. “Well I’ll be jiggered,” said Fred of the now dead Fed. “It’s always the one you least expect, you know? I blame the parents. I do. And society, too. Zebroid society. Very unhealthy, that Zebroid society.” “Fred, you idiot!” Astra screamed from where she was cowering behind a very, very fat man. “Get DOOOOWN!” And for some reason she sounded just like Arnold Schwarzenegger, though it was completely unintentional.Fred pondered that. ‘Get down’. These kids and their slag. In a sad way he supposed he was never actually ‘down’ with anything, nor would he ever be. But why was this sad? It created quite a paradox in his mind. He imagined himself a swan saying, “Goobak ark merlork.” And then he danced with slow, graceful strides, across the expansive room and into a...
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3/6/2008 3:17:00 PM
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