At twilight in the summer there is never anybody to fear—man, woman, or cat—in the chambers and at that hour the mice come out. They do not eat parchment or foolscap or red tape, but they eat the luncheon crumbs.
And in the meantime, it’s probably just fine to eat some candy, slack off on your pushups, and hey, maybe even throw yourself a party for your half birthday. Or your cat’s half birthday. Whatevs.
She took another big swig of her beer and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Parky smiled at Ole and said. “Typical Viking wench you got there my friend.” Asil smiled and let out with a very wenchly belch.
He [Saint Peter] potter'd with his keys at a great rate, / And sweated through his apostolic skin: / Of course his perspiration was but ichor, / Or some such other spiritual liquor.
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