My nose is running for President of my face. I'm in a grocery store, basket full of bagels, cream cheese, and juice. Tissues. God, do I need tissues. So, I go to the paper goods aisle, and begin staring down the long line of facial tissue boxes. Out of nowhere, the mostly dormant gay part of my brain says I need to get a box whose pattern
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Yea, I got nothing.
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b)coated in a dusting of cat fluff.
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