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Handle Mustache

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My thumb pressed the remote and I got commercials. Reruns of the Simpsons or wrestling. But the light still works in my second-hand microwave as I nuked a beef jerky casserole.

The Pepto Bismol looks and tastes like calamine lotion. The band-aids don't stick like taxes do. But chewing gum sticks to hair on my nose.  

My car was repossessed by the pawn shop and my wife but bigger balloons in her chest. All my kids got tattoos of Toby Keith, Don Lemon, and Elmer Fudd. My dog that was fixed had a litter of something that swelled to six and one hamster. But the light still works in the garage where the Hell's Angels and my daughter's new beau park their Harleys.

My son was excommunicated from the Boy Scouts and a coven of vampires. Its seems his badges had grown molars. But my mother-in-law loaned him her dentures and argyle socks. If she wasn't playing Bingo or strutting at the bowling alley. But the light still works on my handlebar mustache. 

 

 

 

 

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