Skunk really gave it some stick all the way to Caliban's place, we passed a good few Coppers but they all seemed to turn the blind eye.
He had a sharp wit, true enough, but also a good, healthy mountaineer's love of pure corn, the slapstick stuff, the in-jokes that get funnier with every repetition and never amuse anybody who wasn't there.
Then doors of the sanctum santorum close with a crash. We are left drained, stunned and stupefied in the dark. Silence seeps back. The ritual is over.
Beefcake with Burgundy Mushroom Cream
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