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September 30, 2002
mark thomas She victoriously expressed her pointy him-complaints, lunging past Rockville and jumping on Godot in Virginia. “Why don’t you have a tail?” he asked, expecting her response to sound like a tombstone. But it was really lightning bursting from the ground in Hyannis Point, crackling toward the Hubble with adolescent rage. She had the president’s tail, a Pentax nostril, a banana groin, and a beautiful huddle of rechargeable pianos, but connoisseur lightning watchers selectively interpreted her Chicago telescope to be a Nazi comic book. “Stupid knockers,” mumbled the olive gardeners. “Pass me some of that rodeo sushi.” After eating rodeo food at an Interstate amusement park in central North Dakota, pianist John Ogdon performed the music of unborn composers for a crowd of starving athletes. This spoiled breakfast for every high school cheerleader in Arlington, Texas, but the nudie bar district still feels like the safest place around. That is where the cloudbuilder soufflé tastes like desperate turkey.
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