Nuke The Hamptons

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Nuke The Hamptons is a nihilistic distraction from the doldrums and tabla of living in the USA. As an expression of Dostoyevsky's hatred of the pretense and posttense, third in line for a Cuban cigar, hailed the cab politely but firmly. Then he stabbed him, shoved him under the car. That rattled the livery servant's cage, let me tell you.

Caught in the loo, doing weird things to an armadillo with bandaids and whiskey, the probative value of said legal team's inquiry was objectified in carbonite by opposing council. Resorting to long-winded speeches about psychiatry and the secret cabal that deals in snack cakes, spill-proof sippy cups erupted from the ceiling above jury and witness stand alike. A handsome bloke driving a Prius and waving the victory sign at the plethoric assembly of Catholic nuns pulled over in front of the hospital, exited the vehicle, walked across the street, raised an RPG launcher and fired into the parking lot, neatly destroying Dr. Kroligson's Jaguar and the designated parking sign to it's frontalness.

Eve was quick to point out that daggers would have been efficient, were it not for an episode of vulcanism in Zone 78. The majority of prarie dogs, having been previously declared by law to be cute, resumed their travels away from the epicenter, and into a ravine already populated by Mormons. There was a creeping infringement of rival Jehovah's Witnesses moving into the eastern end of town, with plans to intercept a government security contract for water rights.

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