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  • #3331
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      “I’m so booooored” Amar sighed, after his eleventh 5-minute break of the morning was over.
      He looked at his polished nails, then at his two companions.
      “It’s so clean we could eat on that damn sewer’s floor, you should stop cleaning! Come on!”

      Reginald looked at him with pursed lips and a fist firmly planted on his hips “And, you are suggesting somethin’, or are you just going to rub it in some more?”

      “Hell yeah, if we’re going to be stuck here, we could redecorate, and make this place a bit more interesting. I’m thinking an underground club, with art deco sculptures and some bit of goth in the back, a stage with fat pole dancers, a disco ball and silver shimmer metallic glowing paint,… Don’t get me started!”

      “Sounds like a lot of work…” Reginald replied after a moment, giving no hint he was buying it.
      “But then, we ain’t got much to do, and I’ll be dying of boredom if we don’t shake this thing up. Count me in!”

      #3313

      When Jack had sent Lisa a message to ask if Fanella had joined her and Mirabelle in Portugal, she was worried.
      Mirabelle, Fanella has disappeared, do you know anything about it?” asked Lisa. “Did she say anything to you that might give us a clue? Was she planning on going anywhere, did she have any friends outside the village? I know she homesick for 18th century Paris, but she couldn’t possibly have gone back ~ or could she?”
      “Bit of a dark horse, our Fanella,” replied Mirabelle. “Always down by that river on her own, reading that strange old book.”
      “Not Circle of Eights and Other Stories!”
      “Yes, that’s the one. She was practicing projecting to the places in the book.”
      WHAT?? Mirabelle, there’s no time to lose, we must go back to the village at once. If Fanella has been doing that, she could be anywhere, anywhere at all ~ and the trail will be a hard one to follow!”
      “But what about our holiday? And not only that, what about the strange tile that was stolen that we’re supposed to be looking for?”
      “The damn tile can wait.” snapped Lisa. “But I haven’t forgotten your arousing arms,” she added, her voice softening. “But we must find Fanella first.”

      ~~

      Lisa was not surprised to find on her return to the village that everything had descended into chaos. She knew that her responsibility belief about her herd tribe had something to do with it, and although she detested the word control, she was well aware of her propensity for monitoring and guiding the creatures and characters in her domain. The lifestyle in the village had relaxed her guidelines about fair play to some extent, but by golly some people were lazy slackers at times. But the one thing that got her goat was being kept in the dark. How could she keep a benevolent control if she wasn’t aware of what was going on? When she found out that Fanella had been making a granite box, and that she was the last to know, she was furious.

      #3307

      Sanso was tied securely on a Louis XVI chair, inside an ornate room kept mostly in the dark by heavy embroidered curtains that smelt of celery.
      He was craving for a tomato juice to go with the smell, and could hardly focus on an empty stomach.

      He could have easily escaped from his predicament, but he was curious about his captors, and the reason why they had him abducted after he went back to his little love nest in the R&R B&B where he’d hoped to meet again the mysterious Lady Cucumber. That was his name for her.
      He was hopeless with names, and although he was sure he had heard hers before, he preferred to remember people by associations. With Irina, that was Cucumbers. There! he thought, another proof of the brilliance of this method, as I remembered her name… Iris? Eyrin?, well, Lady Cucumber.
      He’d made love to many a lady in his life, a lady in Salmon, even a Lady Mermaid, a Lady Gingerale, a Lady Panty, a ladyboy even. He could go on for hours thinking about them, but the lady Cucumber had spun a spell around his head it seemed.

      After his last mission on a rescue with Miss Bob and her Sponges Squarepanties team, he’d run back for the 2222 B&B.
      No sooner had he arrived that heaven and hell broke loose and things went to rules and “do that or else”‘s, all things he abhorred with a passion. The links, and keys for his chains, that he could suffer, so he focused on it for awhile.

      He was woken up by a splash of ice cold water on his pants and a raucous voice in his face. Better that than the reverse, he chuckled to himself.

      “Something funny now? Tell us, where did she go?”

      He knew better than to feign ignorance, so he preferred to feign knowledge, which he’d found usually worked miracles.

      “Of course. She stole something from you…”
      “Damn right, she steal it, and we want back it.”

      The accent was difficult to place, he’d known so many inter-dimensional dialects that sometimes it was hard for him to remember.
      He would have said some northern Chinese dialect accent, with a bit of kiwi.

      He needed to know a bit more before disappearing. His curiosity was aroused by the implication that what she stole was certainly valuable. What could it be, a revolutionary hairsplitter, a butt-fluffer, a fringe freckler, ah! his head was teaming with great possibilities it was making him dizzy.

      “Don’t be silly Mister Sanso, she steal it robot very precious and advance technology.”
      and before he could reply:
      “Yes we read your mind, I confirm… You have silly thinks Mr Sanso.”

      He was starting to think now was a good time to get lost, and started to confuse their mindreader with energy patterns otherwise called gibberish thoughts.

      The chains and ropes gave way easily.
      His next move was to phase out of the room, but instead he managed to fall on his butt, in the middle of mocking looking Chinese in tuxedos and purple bow ties.

      “Ah, I see, you have some antiportation technology…” Sanso was a fair player. The temptation was big to run for another exit, if only for the exhilaration of a chase in the corridors of that strange place, but his stomach was thinking otherwise.

      “I see you are vely fond of kewcomber, we are no animawls, we will give you delishius kewcomber.”

      Minutes after, he was thrown with a certain form of Chinese ceremony in a small cubic windowless room. On a table next to the door, was his meal apparently.

      He recoiled in horror when he opened the lid covering his plate. The strong odour of garlic pricked his nose.
      “No way! Fucking jokers!”
      That was even worse than to eat boiled cucumber chunks in spicy sauce.
      Swimming in soy sauce were slices of chewy sea cucumbers that looked more like fat juicy leeches from a filthy bog.

      He ate reluctantly, arguing with his stomach about the benefits of the collagen in said sea cucumbers, and at the same time realized the Chinese mobsters were probably from the Chinese Robot Incorporated Mission Eternal, a renowned corporation that had managed to free countless people from menial jobs thanks to prodigious advances in robotics.
      The Lady Cucumber was suddenly more than a mysterious beauty, she was also a mysterious wanted beauty, and he couldn’t wait to… But he had to guard his thoughts for now.

      He looked at the bamboo chopsticks with a sly smile. He had not said his last word, and the person who could boast of having Sanso detained was not born yet.

      #3224
      EricEric
      Keymaster

        “What? You think I’m shallow? That I spend too much time on my appearance?”
        Terry Bubble paused a bit then said “Well, maybe a bit, of course yes! I guess that’s what being a drag queen means. You take care of yourself. You enjoy playing with your appearance. You can’t be amateurish about it, it’s about creating an illusion, it’s about making people believe for a moment,…” then he added pensively “and maybe yourself a little”.

        “If you ask me, big beautiful chocolate Maurana Banana, what others think about you is none of your damn nosy business.”

        The three of them crammed at the back of a tiny flying tuk-tuk with their glowing perspiration under the sunscreen and layers of makeup, attempting to keep the appearances up for as long as they could was extremely entertaining.

        “Get ready! We arrive at the drop-off in a minute!” Sadie shouted. At the front of the hovercraft, she was carefully guiding the driver through the jungle thanks to the energy map on the ezapper.

        #3195

        Mirabelle, did you have to bring that damn parrot? I can’t stand the endless squalking!” complained Adeline. “There is no respite, nowhere to go in this balloon to escape the endless nonsense talk of that bird.”
        Boris, always so resourceful, made her a pair of beeswax earplugs from one of the candles in the provisions basket that he had the foresight to bring.
        “My parrot has a name, you rude tart Adeline, her name is HuHu.” replied the wisest maid, adding prophetically, “You will be glad of her in due course, you can be sure of that.”

        #3192
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Pseu was monitoring the progress of the hot air balloon and its motley crew. The prevailing winds were from the west, which would have blown the balloon towards Siberia, quite the opposite direction to their intended destination of the lighthouse on the Galician coast. Despite protocol which decreed that weather manipulation whilst time travelling should be strictly avoided, Pseu had no option but to reverse the wind direction. Thankfully she had excelled at her weather training in the City, and was adept enough to limit the wind direction change to a narrow swathe of air currents immediately affecting the balloon. (Superstitious peasants working in the fields below upon noticing the strange craft flying rapidly against the wind crossed themselves and scurried away from the shadow of the balloon, fearing eternal damnation.)
          The occupants of the balloon were meanwhile appreciating the scenery from an entirely new perspective, oblivious to Pseu’s assistance and merely enjoying the ride and trusting that they would reach their intended destination.

          #3170
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            “You fool” Boris said angrily to Igor, “You were so close, and you let the ferret slip away.”
            “Shame codpieces are out of fashion, eh Igor” taunted Ivan. “That might have saved you from a battering.”
            “Piss off, Ivan.”
            “You’ll have to make it up with that maid, and find out what she’s done with the damn ferret,” said Boris.
            “Piss off Boris, I’m not going anywhere near her again. Not unless I can wear a codpiece, anyway.”
            “That can be arranged,” replied Boris, handing Igor a codpeice.
            “Thanks for all the fish” muttered Igor.

            #3132
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Although the ride was smoother inside the tunnel, the breakneck speed and jolting of the previous leg of the journey had taken its toll. Cedric’s back was aching, and he was impatient now for the journey to end so that he could relax, stretch out, and get the damn corsets off. His neck was stiff from the weight of the wig, his toes were cramped in the narrow shoes, and his eyes were red and sore from the lavish make up. Fuck this, he muttered, 21st century boys clothes are alot more comfortable.
              “Wait until you see the clothes in the 22nd century, Cedric” whispered Pseu, who had heretofore been keeping a low profile. “Living breathing moving fabrics, that shape themselves to whatever position you’re in, supporting yet flexible and not restricting in any way.”
              “Sounds heavenly, why can’t we go there instead?”
              “Because you wouldn’t want to come back, that’s why. Why do you think it is that you hardly ever see time travellers from the future in the past? The damn clothes, that’s why! It takes a brave gallant soul to subject themselves to the clothes of the past, even briefly.”

              #3073
              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                Of course she was keen to visit the “New Stonehenge”, as it was being penned in social media, but first she must sort this damned parcel mix-up. Said parcel was large, flat, wrapped in brown paper and addressed to a Mr or Mrs Chuen. Flove suspected it contained a family photo. Why she was wandering around Hastings with the parcel, or the exact nature of the mix-up, was unclear to her. Let alone something she could explain coherently to anyone else. Yet there she was, waiting in line at the Post Office with this blessed parcel. Her frustration may have made her a tad impatient with the lady who served her. “I am fed up with the Post Office getting things wrong. I am doing this for the good of mankind” she announced fervently.

                #3067
                TracyTracy
                Participant

                  “Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…”

                  Funnily enough, she had wanted to post the daily random quote too because it seemed so significant, and in point of fact, it was awaiting in the comment box when she woke up. The previous night she had been about to post it, and then wondered if she’d posted enough already.

                  She recalled some dream snippets too, which was most uusual, and woke up almost smiling. There had been a big house and people, but the only clear recall was dropping an ecstasy pill on the floor, and it bounced this way and that and disappeared into another room, and everyone was looking for it everywhere. All of the dogs were bright cartoon colours and were all sitting patiently upright in a tree, a cartoon type tree.

                  She thought it quite amusingly significant that everyone was looking for the ecstacy, and just remembered that they did find a pill on the floor, a white one, but that wasn’t the pill they were looking for.

                  #3066
                  F LoveF Love
                  Participant

                    Dear Tracy

                    Your ramblings are hilarious. i have been reading back on this thread.

                    I have to remember the daily quote because it is a synch. I have been thinking many thoughts lately about setting things free. The image in my mind being setting birds free. Doily is synonymous in my mind with something very funny. I can’t think of doily without thinking of Raven suggesting you were wearing a doily on your head. Where is that photo of you with a doily on your head? I think you should post that again so I can laugh at you.

                    “Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…” Doily couldn’t be stopped.

                    Re: old boot. That is very funny. I really wanted to get rid of the old boot but I had to be true to my vision (I was doing the Seth exercise on inner landscape) so the old boot had to stay. Although I did not associate it with you, of course.

                    yours sincerely,
                    Flove

                    #3017
                    TracyTracy
                    Participant

                      meanwhile in South Africa, an alphabet slaughtering surge made landfall, scattering the inhabitants, celebrities and everyday heroes alike. Some suspected the elusive Wordblade

                      “Alliteration ascends the assonance of abseiling abstract aspects of anterior antiquities from ancient altars,
                      Bouldering down blocks of brooks that break the boring & bland borders of bondage,
                      And blinking through bleak and black boxes of brisk bravery.
                      Creeping into crops of crooked crocks with crotches of cockroaches cramming into cans of calamity, the crisp cat crackles the calling.
                      Dreaming of damning devils and demons dancing in droplets of dreary darkness drags the drunken diligence from the draught’s damnation,
                      Even the everlasting ethereal elves ebbed and eased into the effervescent eloquent estate of eternal elitism.

                      For the feeble and fumbling fatuous frontiers, the folly frolicked and fornicated with the familiar friend from foes’ fervent fevers;
                      Greater than gradient grand gestures of gestaltic granite grasses,
                      The gruesome grizzle grabbed the gore by the gripped grunting.
                      Higher than homelands of hands in horizons,
                      Heavens and Hells or Hades hazily hear the honing of the horses and horns-
                      In internal infernos of inflicting infringes of institutional insurrections Interrogations instigated imminent innate innovations.
                      Jacknives of jaundiced and jilted jokers jabbed at the jumping jingles of the jesting jackals that jet over jerseys of jeering,
                      For the Killer Krakens kelp the kites from kids who keep kaleidoscopes of kind and keen keepers.

                      Longer than languid lads that laze in lost latitudes the lieutenant lounged behind lines of lingering losses-
                      Maids mellowed around mazes of men and manners of mad moments and made for mates on mattresses on mothered matrimony.
                      Noisy & never-ending neckties on nests of nicked numbers never nominated the nurses that nosed the nuns for nuns’ nihilism
                      Beyond the Oligarchs of overt operations of obligating omnipotence ostracizing the omniscience & omitting its ownership to the omnipresent order.
                      Pilgrims to pentagons by people from poached & palpitated places of placards of propaganda pondered their positions in this power polarity
                      When quivering quills of quavering queens quelled the quarterly quests of the quaint quarrels.

                      Because roving rivers of raging ravines and raving reviews raced to the rest of the ripped rampant ravages and revelled at the rambling randomness
                      Structured subsiding and subsidized societies should string the strongholds of the supreme sultans of seeded senses.
                      Taking the trusty treaty the trussed toppled truants took the trickling ticking of time to the tables of trampled trees of timber,
                      For under the ubiquitous umbilical umbrellas of ultra-sounds from upper-level ulcers underground underworlds underestimated the union.

                      Vivid visions of voracious vampires of vexing vacuum vortexes vilified the vindicated vindictives from the violent vapid vanity
                      While wild & wily whiskers of whispered whisky whisked the wailing widows
                      From the wells of wanting when the wanton warriors walked on waters.
                      Yards of years of yearning the yesterday’s yonder yarns of yellow yolk yawned Into the youth’s yoked yams
                      For zigzags of zapped zebras to zip the zest in zealous zones.”

                      #2982
                      EricEric
                      Keymaster

                        You’re waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can’t be sure…
                        Josephinella, the train station cleaning lady, was on night duty. And she was tired of waiting for that damned train with that irritating French accent in her ears, her lungs filled with the engines’ fine coal dust and her nostrils irritated by the pigeons’ smell.
                        But tonight was going to be her night, she would get drunk on fresh air, her hair whipping her face, bugs biting her eyes, while she would sing elated woohoos launched at full speed on the last commuter train left unattended by drunk Freddie. That was such a beautiful plan.

                        :fleuron:

                        Another Dreamliner scare… and a train crash coming your way!”
                        “Sounds like a transportation surge to me!” Björk replied on the internal chatting system to her African Twa colleague Kiki Razwa. Björk was not her real name though —it was just a moniker given to her because she liked eccentric costumes. Her real name was Mæja Valbjörnsdóttir,… so ‘Björk’ was better for everyone in that international team, she’d tried to convince herself.
                        “Doesn’t internal policy says two makes a clue, three makes a surge ?”
                        “Oh, who cares… For me it smells dreamception transportation surge.”
                        “Better that than this Mercury retrograde crap, at least that’s more fun to hunt.” Kiki’s reply came up on the screen.
                        Björk had come to realize that she would probably have to cover for Mari Fe who was elsewhere but at her post. The last surge being in Europe, so she was in for a trip at the taxpayers’ expense… Not so bad actually, since nothing ever happened on her faraway island.

                        #2973
                        AvatarJib
                        Participant

                          The snow was falling gently on that Russian night. People were walking in the cold, covered in warm colorful clothes which Mari Fe was finding funny.
                          Do you hear the music ?” asked Pearl.
                          “What music ?”
                          “It’s sounds like a choir in the distance. I suddenly feel melancholia.”
                          Mari Fe had forgotten she had her earplugs on, and as soon as she had removed the right one, she put it back.
                          “Put your earplugs, Pearl ! Quick ! You’re being hypnotized.”
                          “Hypnotized ? Don’t be silly; I’m sad, is all.” Pearl was feeling tears filling up her eyes. Life was so dull lately and maybe it was the seven beers she drank, maybe she something awful had happen and she didn’t know. Something sad must have happen, she thought, how else would I’ve been so sad. But she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t even listening to Mari Fe who was being agitated suddenly. Hadn’t she realized ?

                          Mari Fe was looking frantically in her pockets. Did she has another pair of surge earplugs ? She found a pink panther taser. Another techno stuff, she threw with disgust on her face. She jumped on Pearl and tried to immobilize her, she was trying to put her hands in her pockets to find those damn earplugs. Maybe Janet took them ? What an idea.

                          #2963
                          EricEric
                          Keymaster

                            “Looks like Ed Steams’ own impetus was his downfall Janet said solemnly after she covered the mustacheless body with a white bedsheet.
                            “Damn right you are, Janet.” Riff Raff nodded. “I wouldn’t have recognized him without his mustache though…”
                            “I think it’s safe to say that Pearl and Mari Fe’s plan was nearly a fiasco, but in the end, he took the surge full blast. Not quite the end we had in mind for him, but what’s done is done.”

                            The zombies hadn’t been difficult to subjugate however, and although Riff Raff nearly had his brain eaten out, there had been no spread or civilian loss to deplore. That much was good, Janet didn’t like the whole body moving business one bit. The Moreguest Facility was such a drab place, at least she could go straight back to her post in beautiful sunny West Coast.

                            On the table, an egg-shaped translucent gem was beaming bright green. Janet took it thoughtfully, carefully placing it in the diplomatic case. “Strange that Ed died from the surge while the others recovered once the zombie energy had been sealed into the rote.”
                            Riff Raff was more pragmatic. Or maybe eager to get back home too. “He was a man consumed by his quest for artifacts, let’s not dwell on things past.”

                            Using the portal from the bathroom once she decontaminated and recalibrated it, she’d sent everyone, their clothes doused in moonshine to some dark alleys in Granada, where they would probably be picked by local officers alerted by the usual racket made by the transspace portal, with no memory at all and alcohol breath. At least the nosy auditor would be in for a trip.

                            “Hey Riff, give my regards to Midgenta” Janet bear-hugged her friend, throwing the diplomatic suitcase with the pocket-sized forklift into the glove box of the red car, and disappearing in a trail of fine caliche billowing behind the vehicle wheels.

                            #2958
                            AvatarJib
                            Participant

                              In the meantime in Long Poon, Cornella was irritated by her last Naza Fecebook update. It appeared THEY had noticed something about the sun that the Surge Team was not aware of yet. How could that be so ? She thought momentarily about the invitation she received last week about a costumed party in Tartessos (did she get the name right ?) and maybe too many of the operatives chose to take their vacations then. She would not be surprised if she checked on Maya, the vacation software of the company.

                              But the fact that was bothering her was that the sun wind was hotter that it should be. Wasn’t it a surge, for Roaster’s sake ? Her damn cell phone wasn’t working in the lab with all the security mesures and she wondered how she could have received the update from fecebook, but shit always finds its way, doesn’t it?

                              On her way to the lab, she was ranting about all that. And she had to go through the mist again. It was primarily intended for disinfection. An idea Ed got when he came back from a trip to France where it was customary to get sprayed on your face by the stewardesses before landing. And maybe he watched too much spy TV series, but that was another story Mari Fe told her once. How did she knew that ?

                              Blinded by the mist, she eventually found the door. She was holding her breath not to get too intoxicated and it was always a pain to type the code to get out. She’ll have to mention that to Ed soon. But she always forgot.

                              Taking a deep breath in, she didn’t notice Aqua Luna struggling with the keyboard of Cornella’s computer.

                              #2924
                              AvatarJib
                              Participant

                                Janet took a heavy stickman and smashed it on the worker’s head.

                                “Damn it! Janet! What have you done ?” Pearl was beginning to wonder about that hit and smash epidemy. Would she be the next to succumb ? She resisted a strong impulse to smash Janet’s head with what appeared to be a wooden hyppopotamus and took a deep breath.

                                “I don’t know”, Janet said with a little girl’s voice.
                                “Oh! Be serious for a moment and stop breathing your helium balloon for Roaster’s sake!”
                                Janet continued with the same voice, “At least we can throw them all through the portal now, can’t we ? Sorry, I won’t do that again…”

                                “Roaster! That man with the vermillion robes is so heavy”, complained Pearl.
                                “Maybe we can throw the portal at them and see what happens”, said Janet.

                                Pearl considered the idea for a few seconds, it was very tempting, but also so contrary to what they have been taught about portals, that it gave her chills. It could swallow the entire village, and the two Chicks in the same gulp.

                                “The story has just begun said Pearl, we can’t do that.”

                                #1295

                                In reply to: Tales of Tw’Elves

                                EricEric
                                Keymaster

                                  “Guess it was about bloody time I got back here” Franlise said, her feather duster firmly clutched in her left hand.
                                  The matronly black woman started dusting vigourously, sending myriads of half-written papers flying in the air.
                                  “My draaafts!” Elizabeth shriek was lost in the gusts of winds.

                                  “Bugger, bugger, bugger” the impromptu cleaning lady started to enunciate in a most perfect Queen’s English. “Nothing like some good buggery bugger to start the day and clear the lungs. And many a little makes a damn buggery mickle, isn’t that right darling?”. She said, striking a pilates pose in between the cleaning.

                                  Elizabeth stood aghast, not knowing what to say but a meek “Didn’t I fire you?” to which Franlise knew better than to answer with nought but a smile.
                                  Drawing a sharp letter opener from behind her back, she nimbly leaned toward Elizabeth, with all her white teeth glowing in the dark apartment where even the aspidistras had long gone dried up and wrinkled, their pots now no more than mere ashtrays.

                                  “Well, now, what shall we do about all that spider cobwebs you’ve got yourself wrapped in…”

                                  #2461

                                  Peackle dragged his father by the sleeve and showed him the delirious aunt speaking in tongues.

                                  See, dad, I think she got that special direct line with the Eight’s Dimension now…
                                  Oh, I see… a broken Pee said

                                  Their victory over Mother Blubbit seemed utterly and bitterly Pyrrhic at the moment, considering all the nonsense (damned be the Eighth Dimension) their trip has brought to otherwisely very non-nonsensical Peasland. Would they ever get back to normal again?

                                  He preferred to believe she’d just again overindulged on Peaskol, the famoul (famously foul) alcohol brewed from overripe peas known though all Peasland to clean old clogged pipes. That and smoking tea leaves of course…

                                  #2426

                                  “Finally the answer we need! Let’s release the damn bird and get back home now! Besides its cage needs cleaning and it’s starting to smell, and I can’t stand this place any longer…” Doily couldn’t be stopped.

                                  Foolishly getting by that that Doily had understood most and perhaps all of the Cloud’s mysterious riddle, and that she even had managed to remember it, by a chance even slimmer than that of crossing the Eight’s Portal alive, Pee agreed with a nod of his neck.

                                  Once the birds’ released (with a good manly slapping as the feathery creature was a bit reluctant and groggy from being rocked in its cage), they were instantaneously and quite unsurprisingly back again near the Saucerer’s house, all safe in their beloved Peasland, ravaged by blubbits holes.

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