«12. . .2,3062,3072,3082,3092,3102,3112,312. . .2,3692,370»
Irish mobstersceased to exist.
Well, that'll cut down on the crime in the neighborhood.
Uttlantis, you wanna take care of these potato-heads?
*Noodles hops off his stool, tosses some money on the counter and hurries to the door*
Sorry to rush off like this, but I gotta hot date and I don't wanna miss the last bus.
*He bolts out of the cafe, crosses the street against the traffic and disappears around the corner at the end of the block*
Noodle arms departed this region for Bus Stop.
Richard b uttlantis agreed to construct embassies with Pocket Universe Couch Fort.
Friends of mine. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Hells no, that stuff's carcinogenic.
Tell you what, I know a guy who knows a guy who's the friend of a cousin who can get me the good stuff.
*Looks around cautiously before pulling out a small transparent bag with a fine crystaled powder lining the bottom*
Pure cane sugar. Grown in Hawaii... grown in the sun.
If you cook, if you bake...
*Raises an eyebrow and taps at the small bag with his finger, making the dazzlingly white particles dance in their plastic prison, as if eager to be released*
For goodness sake.
*Waves the bill in the air for a moment before draping it across the top of the register to dry*
No sense in risking mildew.
*Snaps a salute with the spatula*
There's usually a good deal on oranges over at The Local Supermarket. I'll send Uttlantis to go pick some up.
«12. . .2,3062,3072,3082,3092,3102,3112,312. . .2,3692,370»
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