So, before I start my traditional "it's payday so get thyself to ye olde internet cafe and pay off your credit card bill while swearing never to overindulge in spendthriftery ever again as long as you live, wench" missive, I would like to point out that if you don't read Philip Reeve's Larklight right away, you will burst into flames from lack of
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Their feet were touching
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They were NOT and I hate you.
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Were too
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I don't think the whole WORLD is big enough for all the people I hate. Which is ironic, when you consider that that is where many of them reside. It must be one of those things to do with quantums and science.
I did indeed get my hands on a copy of the Hogfather, and if you send me your address I shall pimp you a copy and send it forthwith, complete with traditionally illegible labelling by yours truly.
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