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The dancers look like something straight out of 1982, bedecked in their
brightly colored raiment. Their garb consists mostly of spandex. Headbands seem
to be a requirement. And by the looks of their ridiculous hair, one would
assume they must have all
been either very recently electrocuted or exposed to the trauma of
seeing George Bush's mother in the nude <shudder>. Many of them reek of
toxic hair products and, tragically, many of them are sporting dripping wet
Jerry curls. They dance and prance through the mall like wild gazelle, graceful and quiet. Strong in numbers yet easily spooked by the slightest movement. Fred is delighted by the whole stupid affair. “I say!” he says. “That was right bloody amazing, that was!” The princess issues a grunting noise which sounds something like, “No, not particularly.” Velus barks in seeming agreement.“Oh what do you know, anyway,” he snarls. “A fly-bitten mutt and a yeasty half-faced cunt. What would you know about anything? Between the lot of you the only bits of useful information that can be found in the squalor of your tiny brains is dish washing and butt sniffing!” Fred seems to realize the err of his words even as they leave his mouth.
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6/29/2008 8:50:36 AM
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