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  • #2281
    EricEric
    Keymaster

      G3 (short for GGG, which was shorter for Good God Gordy) asked as if to himself “Anyone met the Fisherman yet?”

      :fleuron:

      Gremwick put down the Psychic Politics book he’d taken for his assignment, his five words written on a lemon coloured sticker:

      Oof… here we go, “state — briefly — fisherman — library — pigeons”… There’s a bit of challenge here. he sighed, mostly uninspired.
      “Perhaps I should have stayed with the easy words like ‘more, is, less, think, true’”.

      :fleuron:

      “Do you mean the Fisherman’s coming? How long has it been already?” Ann started to count briefly on her chubby fingers.
      “Well, I guess if you’d be more assiduous in Pr. Rose’s class in bird divination, you’d found out that the pigeons’ flight was unmistakably precise on that matter.”
      “I tried, believe me, I tried to pay more attention,…” Ann said, “but frankly, I prefer direct experience of the broom cupboard to the draughty corridors of the library…”
      “Oh, I should say I’m a bit disappointed at you; I’ve always believed the state of dustiness would have been an incentive to you rather than a deterrent.”

      “Don’t underestimate the incentive of detergent” Monica said almost mischievously under her breath.

      #2274
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        The shopping trip during Prof Less’s class time was indeed fun. Ann purchased a cruet set with a dragonfly motif, half price in a sale. Just one more class to attend before the weekend, Professor Godfrey Gordon’s class, or Good God Gordy as he was affectionately known.

        “Ann, I must congratulate you on doing so VERY well with Continuity.” Gordon said, with much appreciation and deep sincerity. “You’re doing very well indeed. A toast!” he raised his glass, and smiled warmly at Ann.

        Ann found herself blushing at the unaccustomed praise. “Gosh, Gordy, thanks!” she gushed. “And what fun to have champagne in class! Cheers, everyone!”

        :beer:

        #2616

        In reply to: Strings of Nines

        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “It’s the 57th Creative Challenge theme, so I have to do it,” Ann remarked to her editor. “Obviously”, she added.

          “What do you mean, obviously?” asked her editor (Ann had forgotten his new name in the second book, and toyed breifly with the idea of making up a new one ~ perhaps Rumbold the Pale?)

          “Well, I would have thought that was obvious, Godfrey!” Ann replied tartly, secretly delighted that she’d remembered the old boy’s name. Notwithstanding, Ann continued to make little ‘cuh’ and ‘tut’ noises, and rolled her eyes a bit, until Godfrey eventually replied.

          “Spiggot on the spike freak, Lingenburg Dash”.

          “I beg your pardon?” Ann looked at Godfrey in astonishment. “Holy Moly, I said that earlier myself, whatever does it mean?”

          “I haven’t got a clue, dear,” he replied. “Just popped into my head, you know, how it does…” His voice trailed off as he stared into space.

          “I’ll google it.” As Ann started the search, she realized she’d completely forgotten that she was doing the 57th Creative Challenge entry. “Blimey O Riley, what am I LIKE” she said to herself, with a wry grin ~ she wasn’t altogether sure what wry meant, but somehow she felt it was wry ~ “Now what was the theme again?”

          “Misery Loves Company” Godfrey piped up. “And dare I say, it’s rather obvious what has occurred here.”

          “What do you mean, obvious?” retorted Ann, somewhat snarkily, although nowhere near as snarkily as Lavender might have said it.

          Godfrey resisted the urge to respoond with a few little ‘cuh’s’ and ‘tut’s’, and chose to simply smile enigmatically.

          Ann scowled at her old freind and said “If you don’t spell it out, you maddening old coot, I’ll write you out of this story. I’ll delete you.”

          “You can write me out of YOUR story if you wish, but I may continue to write YOU into MY story.”

          “Oh Gawd, WHAT?” Ann said to herself. “Where did that come from?”

          “Ann, let me explain.”

          “You sound just like Elias, Godfrey!”

          “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

          “Ahahahahahahah”

          “Now shut up and pay attention”

          Elias would never say that”

          “That’s YOU saying that, Ann, to yourself,” said Godfrey.

          YOU said that Godfrey, it’s right here in black and white!” retorted Ann.

          “It’s never black and white, Ann, and it’s only here in black and white as ME saying it because YOU wrote it.”

          “Well there’s no answer to that” replied Ann. She went to put the kettle on.

          Ann returned to her computer with a steaming mug of tea.

          “Now, shall we get back to the point, Ann?” inquired Godfrey, with a wry grin.

          “I must look up that word later”, Ann mused. “I seem to be inordinately fond of the word wry tonight, I wonder why. I Wonder Wry…”

          ANN!” Godfrey shouted. “Back to the point!”

          Ann looked pained. “What point?”

          “The point of this story, and the obvious occurence therein.”

          “Welp, you’ve lost me there, Gordon, there was a point?”

          “Oh My God, this could go on all night” Gordon was wringing his hands.

          “Good God Gordon, didn’t see you come in!” exclaimed Godfrey.

          Ann was giggling helplessly. She was rather pleased with the way she covered her faux pas over the editors name.

          “‘Ann was giggling helplessly’; you see Ann, there is your clue!” Godfrey said excitedly, as he read aloud what Ann had just written.

          “OH! NOW I get it! D’oh! Nonsense loves company! Giggling loves company! No wonder I couldn’t stay focused on misery!”

          #2238

          “Believe it or not, it suddenly seems like the shifting symphony makes more sense than the ninth (and Beethoven doesn’t make you dumb), if you see my drift…”
          “I could, if you’d stop talking in riddles” Lavender told Harvey with but the slightest hint of exasperation in her otherwise perfectly adorable soft and beautiful voice.

          “I don’t even know what I’m talking about actually, it’s like I’m channeling some deranged poet”
          “Yeah, that or being taken over by aliens …”  8-|

          “You know, I miss a sense of continuity… When I can’t follow the leaping frog in at least a pattern that makes sense, I gradually loose all interest. At least if I know the frog is going that way to look for tasty maggots, or that other way to lay a few eggs, or that other way to mate with psychotropic toads, I can hop or fly along… “
          Lavender smiled a lovely smile.

          “There it’s like a frog without purpose; it’s running in all directions, keep changing colours like a chameleon, and no matter how I try, I can’t figure the simplest pattern.”
          “Maybe you should ask your super computer floogle ?”
          “Yeah… it would tell me that figures without a pattern are called irrational or even transcendent… Not that it would help me in the least. Usually, when you can’t find a pattern, it’s because you don’t use the proper decomposition.”
          “You want to dissect the poor frog?”
          “No… Not even sure why I bother with the frog at all… It can do what it wants in the pond after all…”

          #2224
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Greve Bord was up Shift Creek without a paddle. Shift Creek was in Loo Mash, and Greve wanted to get to Well Flyers before sundown, but he was going upstream and everyone knew that Well Flyers was downstream.

            #1284

            Bronkel was stern as ever, yet you could feel in his eyes that he was troubled.

            — “What? That’s roobish, isn’t it?”
            — “No! Elizabeth! Not at all! It’s your best book in years! Poople will want more!”
            — “Well, we’ll see… For now, I think my moose needs some rest”

            Her detox had done her great. Her beautifool violet eyes weren’t as bloodshot as before, and she could even see some of her hair grow back in places. Elizabeth in some surge of energy had collected all the bits written here and there, loose paper flying at times with some missing (perhaps used during her poohnuts hazes to light fires in the office).
            Some of these paper she wasn’t even sure were hers, or writing attempts by Finnley, but she didn’t care; they were all so funny and interesting.

            For instance, she wasn’t too soore that she’d have Veranassasss —whatever her bloody name was— go off with the pilot of the plane, but that sounded nice for her. So she’d used that part too.

            Of course, the Spanish couple, Paqui and Jose had reemerged at the boulder moving party after a long trip in the underground space-traveling tunnels. Leo and Bea were not so glad they’d reappeared so early, but had found it was time to move on, and continue their quest for more bizarre and entertaining artifacts. And they wanted to go to Morocco anyway, in this gorgeous blue city…
            Young Becky decided she wanted to go abroad to travel the world. “And study too” had said Dan who wasn’t as shifty as Dory, a thing for which she thanked heavens profusely every day.

            Sharon, Gloria and Mavis after some more bizarre adventures among the Masai tribes finally found their way back home, while Akita continued his explorations of this strange shifting world of the 21st century.

            Even the bizarre animals stories in the ZOO she’d kept. They’d even found Arky the Aardvark. He had been accidentally buried under Oligan the Oliphant’s pile of poop. The poor Oliphant had suffered from an excess of mangoes in his diet, and Arky was so eager to collect poop for his garden of flowers that he hadn’t noticed the harbingers of it.
            Pawanie the lady Panda and Barry the White Bear had since then decided to take care of the little Aardvark, and provide it with their own poop to fertilize the flower garden. Theirs was a garden to behold, with the most beautiful flowers to be seen in miles. Attracting creatures from all over the place.

            There were a few points Elizabeth had left deliberately unanswered; the mad doctor, who was probably still alive somewhere, and most important of all… if, after all this children bearing with Sean, Becky ended up with Sam or not.
            One thing was sure though, they were all moving to the City. The sooner the better.

            #1274

            — “What do you think then? Aren’t you interested in going away a few days for a visit in that new City?” Al asked Tina
            — “Well, I don’t know”, she answered, her voice muffling down to a whisper. Or more precisely, not a whisper, but a soft transition into a telepathic mode. That non-verbal mode of communication was recently the most efficient way they’d found to exchange without need for lengthy explanations.

            That way, lots of discussions were held at once, and answers instantly given to a whole range of multiplexed questions.

            “You know,” Al continued after a moment “that guy we met last time, Sam’s friend…”
            “Yes, Armando Tina answered telepathically

            “Yeah. He’s got his flying car model perfected; apparently, they’re now starting to put flying tractors on the market too. I was thinking we could rent one to go to that country City. Sounds reasonable enough; we can fly to go there, and once arrived, even if it’s muddy, a tractor would come in handy.”

            #1243

            “Hey! Look at that Bea!”
            “What?” Beattie answered distractedly
            “A flyer for a friggin’ Christmas Boulder Moving Party ! Bugger if I want to go there and spend euros on stupid gifts! Spoiling the fun on the snowy mount, innit a shame?”
            “Mmmm mmm”
            “What’re you looking at Bea for Pete’s sake! You’re not even listening to a word I just said!”
            “Shhht Leo, that old bat of Barb has found another treasure of a book, it’s full of tattoos designs ; I’d love to get one.”
            “You’re kiddin’?!” Leonora was dismayed “And where would you put the fucker? On your hips with all your cellulite, it’ll look like a bloated wrinkled balloon in no time at all!”
            “Yeah, been thinkin’ of that for a while… I think I’ve got a good smooth n’ firm place for it though…”
            “Don’t tell me…”
            “Yes, on my butt!”

            #1209

            From Georges’ account of his first encounter with Phoebe Chesterhope. Part II

            She wasn’t paying attention to the other clients. She was like one of these statues at Madame Tussauds, still and beautiful, surrounded by mystery. Was she lost in her thoughts? Her rich clothes suggested that she was fortunate and the anxious look the jeweller was giving her every 2 minutes let me think that she was also quite influencing.

            About ten minutes after we had entered the shop with Catherine, a man arrived. Small and bald, poorly dressed, he was carrying a parcel wrapped in a piece of rough fabric that he was holding very carefully. The owner almost jumped on him in his rush and told him something briefly before he introduced him to Madam Tussaud, her face suddenly filled up with life. Not that she was smiling or welcoming him in any manner, but her eyes were suddenly sparkling with determination. I realized that she was taking on herself not to look too obviously at the parcel.

            “I expect you have a more private place so we can discuss our arrangement with mister…”
            “Fessard, Madam. Roger Fessard.”
            “Whatever…” she took her time to look openly at the other customers before she continued, staring reproachfully at the man. “I need some privacy to evaluate what he brought me.”

            Her accent was almost perfect and her french flawless. But faking to be a stranger myself most of the time, I was sure she wasn’t from here… maybe Britain.

            “Of course, Madam” said the owner in his conspicuous servile tone. He led Madam and Roger to a door behind the counter and they entered the room; the bald man put his packet on a table and began to unwrap it as Madam said sharply to the jeweller : “Leave us.” The damn man obeyed and closed the door before I could see anything more.

            EricEric
            Keymaster

              A non exhaustive list of Ancient Channeled Recipes

              • Glukenitch kebabs
              • Borgulm tart (also known as the Snoot’s tart)
              • Flynn and chips
              • Langoat Crumble
              • Horny Goatweed and Spam soup
              • Reindeer Pee Sorbet
              #1184

              “So we’ll be moving as soon as the others come back from their trip. Very well, that will be a great opportunity to see new environments for YikesVincentius acknowledged the news with his usual composure.

              “Very well then, I hope you are not too worried about Arona, but she…”
              “Not at all” Vincentius answered with a smile.
              “Oh… Okay then. Perfect!”

              Malvina added as if to make sure he had understood everything properly “So, I’ll be at my friend’s den for a few days. Georges and Salome will be here in case you need anything, and of course Buckie, though he might be a bit unpredictable…”

              “Have a safe voyage” so Vincentius, who was not of many words when it wasn’t about saying something meaningful, ended the conversation.

              :fleuron:

              To go to see her friend Yimho, Malvina wanted to look pretty —not dashing, but not looking like a country girl either. She reached for the linen embroidered dress with the zynder patterns. She loved it, it would be perfect.

              Yimho was a guy living nearby she had known briefly from her days of Sorcery training, who had a rejuvenating cave situated just under a hot spring, so that water was running almost everywhere inside the cave. On the walls, the floor, little pools everywhere. Yimho had this uncanny interest in golfindels and was telling all sorts of stuff to entertain people with; stuff that he got from tuning himself to the consciousness of the creatures.
              Malvina was thinking she would have a nice time there, though the echoes of clicking sounds throughout Yimho’s dwelling were a bit disturbing…

              #1177
              AvatarJib
              Participant

                Yann was feeling a bit uncertain of what to do next. These past few days had been evolving in an unfamiliar direction and doing familiar things like going to work, eating at more or less fix hours (the same kind of food), and even checking the mail sitting on their sofa was feeling uncomfortable.
                Most of the time, if he continued focusing on what was happening in the outside world, he was feeling overwhelmed really quickly and things he was doing at that moment would kind of escape his control… the plates would fly over if he was washing the dishes, the tooth brush would hit his gums savagely if he was brushing his teeth… Not so gentle reminder in his opinion.
                Well, all of that was making him ponder about becoming completely insane in order to have an excuse of doing whatever he wanted at the moment he wanted…
                Too tired to proof read…
                :chomping:

                #1165

                on a Yukailli Airlines Flyboat, Cruise#557
                Long Pong vicinity, International Waters, October 2008

                “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are sorry to tell you that for unexpected reason, the flight has been rerouted to Auckland, New Zealand. Our final destination, Tikfijikoo Island is under strict quarantine for an unknown…

                — “WHAT?!” Dory was drawn out of her clouds contemplation by the voice of Ignoratio Elenchi
                — “Shhht!” Becky commanded her a bit rudely.

                Then, after the voice of the captain faded out in an incomprehensible muddle, “Oh, great! Now, we didn’t get what’s happening…”
                “Oh, as if we care for the reasons…” Dory said pragmatically. “Such a strange creating we did this time. I was so expecting to get to this island, and now it’s closed to tourists?”
                “Don’t worry, we may get there later… At least, this time we got to board on this strange airline, even if just for a round trip.”
                “Good point, Beck’!”

                Then, as if a sudden idea had just stuck her she added with a gleam in her eyes “Hey, that’s a really nice creating actually; we may be back home just in time for Day of the Dead celebrations…”

                Sometimes things seemed to work in cycles and round trips she thought to herself…

                #1148
                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  The whole week had been flying over his heads. Last Sunday, they had come back with Sam from their trip on the Floridisles, and though his body was a bit aching from the trip on the still young flight company of Yurailli Airlines, Al’s head was still swimming in the clear blue waters with the dolphins and sea dragons a soft music running in his head like a young unworried boy on the shore.

                  The return to New Venice was such a difference in energy that it took him a shocking cold to re-adapt. Not that he couldn’t have done without the cold, but he had chosen to allow it, for many reasons. For one, it was very self-centering, and also the more he allowed it, contrary to what people would think, the quicker it healed.

                  Lots of things had happened in New Venice during their little adventure in the South, and there was lots to do to keep the pace. So much difference with the peaceful silent world of the cetaceans… Not even much time to update the Reality Play which almost had gone into hibernating mode, had it not been Becky’s occasional funny entries and syncs.

                  Nevertheless, Al could feel that the peace of the dolphins and sea dragons had touched him on more than just the surface level. For once, he wasn’t even worried about Tina now; he could feel her discrete but present energy was strong, even though she was going onto a difficult transitional path of her own.

                  #2028

                  In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

                  EricEric
                  Keymaster

                    Indeed Jib, as usual, as usual:

                    Follow THE call OF THE WILDE,
                    THAT WHICH especially ASK YOU TO hold STILL AT home.
                    YOU KNOW, IT DOESN’T TAKE lots OF walking
                    TO let YOUR arms HAVE SOME EXERCISING:
                    SOME WOULD SAYperhaps”;
                    BUT NO NEED TO SAY “I knew THAT!”

                    LET’S EXPLORE A stone idea:
                    OF dragons starting watermelons story, flying AROUND
                    AND smiling, DIVING IN THE flove

                    #1328

                    In reply to: Pictures Pool

                    EricEric
                    Keymaster
                      #1136
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        The interior of the Fly-boat was a bit like a Tardis, in that it was very much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, and quite a different shape, too. While the exterior of the fly-boat resembled a cross between a duck and a bee, the interior was circular. There was a high point in the centre of the ceiling, and richly embroidered tapestries draping down to the floor in sumptuous folds, looking for all the world like a yurt.

                        Yukailli Airlines has a decidedly exotic and oriental air, Dory thought as she perused the in flight magazine, which was written in a charming but indecipherable script resembling the Voynich Papers.

                        “This is your captain speaking” a disembodied voice boomed. “Welcome aboard! My name is Ignoratio Elenchi, and I trust that you will have a most enjoyable flight with Yukailli AirBoats. There will be no obligation to fasten your seatbelts and you may smoke all through the flight. Our cabin crew will be preparing Vedic Stew over an open fire in the central area of the craft at 11:11. For your in-flight entertainment, up on the open air flight deck there will be a continuous light show by Aurora Borealis. If you want us to stop the flyboat at any point to take snapshots” continued Ignoratio, “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

                        #1135

                        — “Dory?”
                        — “What, hon’?” a distracted Dory answered to young Becky
                        — “You’d better remove the magnets from the iron, or you’ll ruin another one…”
                        — “What are you talking about?!” Dory was perplexed, trying to find her way through the airport to Gate 57-¾, but only to find nothing but benches in between Gate 57 and 58.
                        — “Oh, never mind… It’s only a dream and you probably won’t remember it anyway.”

                        “There!” the suspicious bag lady of the Heathrow terminal had reappeared briefly just for Dory to spot her entering the restrooms.
                        Becky was already rolling the heavy bumper-stickers patched suitcase to follow her without question.

                        — “But why are you taking the suitcase to go to the bathroom, Beck’?”
                        — “What are you talking about Dory!” Becky was sometimes losing patience. “Can’t you see it’s the entrance for Gate 57-¾?!”
                        — “Uh?” A moment of clueless mystery on Dory’s face. “Oh…” Another mini-black hole on her face.

                        “Oh. Okay then. Let’s go…”

                        If there was something that her exotic life had taught Dory, it was to never question the moment. If the circumstances are here, if the impulse is there, then go for it. Explanations will follow. And in case they don’t, make them up as you roll and rock!

                        Becky meanwhile was rather surprised at how people, even her own step-mother, as tuned in ghostly stuff as she was, most of the time failed to see the things for what they really are. And if these big painted letters on the door “GATE 57 ¾” weren’t obvious enough, and people preferred to interpret them as restrooms, then… what else could be done? She sighed.
                        Later on, she would learn that it was a common, well documented trait in human consciousness; that people were sometimes psychologically (but not physically) blind to stuff outside of their current focus of attention, or simply blind to things too far off their beliefs; in other terms, it was a matter of energy reconfiguration. As long as it worked…

                        “Oh look at that… Yukailli Airlines counter is here! What bloody stupid idea to put a closet door at the entrance…”

                        After having made the departure arrangements at the counter, Dory came back to Becky who was looking outside at the planes.

                        — “Ain’t them beautiful?”
                        — “Yeah, and I suppose you’re seeing planes, aren’t you?”
                        — “Err, yes of course, what else, silly… Though now you ask me, they seem a bit weird… foggy or something”.

                        In fact, what Becky was seeing wasn’t conventional planes. It was more like “fly-boats”. Some sorts of hybrid ships made to fly with huge wings transparent and shiny like those of flies.

                        — “I hope they have crunchy coleslaw for meal, I’m starving” a contented and tired Dory said, when she collapsed into the comfortable seats.

                        #1055

                        As she was sinking to the bottom of the raging sea, Madame Chesterhope first felt like a boiling rage inside her, at all the thwarted attempts, all the unfulfilled promises.
                        Not a solid thing on which to carve a few runes or symbols to get herself out, not a single living being to use at her profit, she was alone, at the mercy of gravity.
                        Not unexpectedly, flashes of her life, of her many lives, flickered like incoherent pieces of an unfinished mosaic in her mind.

                        When did it went wrong? she thought… When did she lose touch with her magic.
                        Not the mundane magic, not the one she used for these parlor tricks devoid of meaning, like that beautiful flying motorbike which was drowning even faster than her… She was speaking of her inner magic, her sense of connection with the elements, with herself, Phoebe.

                        What had become of the frail grey-haired lady the apparency of whom she was so fond of taking years ago?
                        She was tempted to blame many things; the twenty-first century of her own dimension, for one, which had made her rough and tough, out of need perhaps, and perhaps a bit out of laziness. It was out of tiredness mostly, tiredness to have to constantly justify her appearance to others, that she had chosen a more convenient one; that of the crone with more rotund forms, of whom one would only expect austerity and strength.
                        You can see where it had led you. she was thinking.

                        A few more miles further down, and perhaps she would meet the mermaids, like the guy said in that Big Blue motion picture
                        Maybe there was some purity left in her heart, that would make the inhabitants of the depths greet her wretched soul. Or perhaps they all died before her, from the pollution of this strange world mutating in pangs and spasms of a painful childbirth.

                        And what would you do now, if you have the choice? that sweet voice, like that of a thin grey-haired mermaid, was it her own, testing herself?
                        The quest for magical artifacts seemed so far away at this moment. It had begun a long time ago, led her to discover new other-dimensional places… new tricks, all of them for what? To gain control over the elements, the others, everything that could threaten her, force her to change. How ironic. That the fear of change made her change so drastically.
                        She wanted to make peace with all of that. The mermaids weren’t coming, but her own voice was still there for her. Perhaps she could muster the strength. To continue…

                        Mustering all her force, she forcibly expressed the most propelling “prout” she’d ever made. Of course, she’d been learning a few tricks from the legendary Fartiste back in her youth when she went to Paris to perform at the Moulin Rouge… Sweetest time of her life, she had to admit…

                        :fleuron:

                        On the surface of the waters, bubbles started to form.

                        #1039
                        EricEric
                        Keymaster

                          Fumbling through the huge pile of paper, Elizabeth cried in anguish “it’s oowful, there’s too much stuff in those jumbled foolders!

                          Her cry had made some of the tiny goats faint and as she started to look around, she found herself in the middle of what looked like a battlefield from the Rooman times, with Robert the magpie dancing gleefully on goats all four legs in the air.:goat: :yahoo_silly: :yahoo_sleepy:

                          Nervously, she reached for her cigarettes, only to send the pack flying in the trash with her chaotic movements. “booger, booger!”. As she went crawling under the desk, she saw that tooday’s newspaper had a chubby statue on the front page ( Oostrians fete voluptuoos, prehistoric Venoos ).
                          “What’s that? She looks familiar that one” thought Elizabeth, the form of the statue vaguely reminding her to go check with her aesthetic surgeon if any more work needed to be done since the last time, three weeks ago.

                          And now, look at that, it’s almost like in dear Harry Pooh’ter
                          That Venoos is made from oolitic stone (meaning egg stone)… “ :yahoo_thinking:

                          But seeing the cinders of her freshly lit cigarette were almost lighting up a fire from her notes, she almost forgot to put that new thing in her clooh box.

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