The other day an Australian came over here to persuade us to spend thousands of dollars to sign up for a program to conserve the wildlife in the jungles of Oz. Aside from me there were two giggling airheads behind me who came to hear the fit man with the exotic accent, and a social retard who kept his back to us the entire time to surf the internet
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Somewhere in the grim and cold lands beyond the cosmos, a skeletal finger reached out and slid a bead along the rail until it came to a rest beside twenty-two others.
So what scares me, you ask? Moving back in with my parents and never making anything of myself and living only as a burden to others. Generally, being a failure at life
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I've picked up the strange habit of subconsciously immitating foreigner's accents when I'm around them. I first noticed this in the UK when I would put on a James Marstersesque mockney but dismissed it as temporary. Well, it popped up again last night. I was at an informal get-together when I briefly made the acquaintance of an exchanger from
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The Trudeau's are the closest thing Canada has to a native royal family. In that sense, Justin would be the crown prince. His father Pierre pretty much reshaped our nation in the 1960's.