And when Occaſion did require, / In midſt of Houſe a mighty Fire, / Of black dry'd Earth and ſwingeing Blocks / Was made, enough to roaſt an Ox; […]
There was a hint of irony in his voice.
Nothing gobs up the creative flow more than the image of a fat, lonely, middle-aged insurance salesman lying on his bed and pulling on his weenie while he listens to my words coming over the line
They sat on their BTMs all day and got nothing done.
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