Well. That was odd.
A chick in pearls, a tiny black dress and a Gidget haircut just walked in my apartment, got a glass of water, drank it, then looked at me and said, "Well, this doesn't seem to be my home." I said, "Doesn't seem like it, no." She says, "Terribly sorry," puts the glass in the sink and leaves.
How the fuck did she know which cabinet the glasses were in?
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I can't imagine what school would have a postgraduate necromancy program, except probably Bob Jones University.
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