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I want a plebeian love song because you can’t prove that you would catch that grenade. Can you?

I was listening to my music at work today, as I usually do, when my soulmate decided to mention Ke$ha and cause me to switch my radio station from the mellow Mumford and Sons to the chaotic Ke$ha and everything that came with her.  Most of the music Ke$ha brings with her makes me want to dance, which isn’t the best idea in a work environment and poses a serious problem – you have to physically keep yourself from dancing. It is difficult and annoying.  Dancing is so much more fun than working and, technically, I would be working off calories so…that counts, right?  Anyway, one of the last songs that comes on before quitting time rolls around is “Grenade” by Bruno Mars and it made me wonder why those were things he chose to be construed as romantic.  Why?  Because what are the odds that he could actually prove that he would follow through with any of the over the top claims he states?

I mean, who catches grenades?  Wouldn’t you just duck?  Or bat it away?  Quite frankly I would find it more impressive that he would be able to catch it, regardless of whether or not he was doing it for someone.  Add that to the fact that very few women in the states have to dodge grenades on a regular basis – it just isn’t normal, so what does it prove that you would catch it for someone?

So you would catch a grenade AND you would take a bullet straight to the head?  Again, I do understand that this is probably a problem in several areas but it isn’t a common problem. Oh, and you would jump in front of a train.  Like? If someone asked you to?  You would just do it?  Because I feel like the proper way to state that would be that you would rescue your loved one from in front of the train.  Though if she is standing there she is probably asking for it so you might as well just stand next to her since you also say you will die for her.  Instead of for her die with her.  THAT’S love.

So after all this it made me wonder what true love was to us plebeian folks.  How about buying her tampons?  For example:

Bitch, I would buy tampons for you.
I would walk in the store and go straight to that aisle for you.
Surreptitiously walk down that aisle for you.
Hope I find the right ones for you.
Head over to the (self) checkout for you.
Bring home those damn feminine products for you.
Yeah I would buy tampons for you.

That would really show love especially since in all likelihood she was too lazy and forgetful to get them for herself.  Also, this is clearly a bad rap song because I am incapable of rhyming unless it is on accident.

Other possible additions to my new age rap song:

  1. I would let you have control over the remote and sit there and watch whatever you choose even though I doubt it will be able to hold my attention for very long and I would much rather be gauging my eyeballs out with blunt objects.
  2. I would go dancing with you even though, quite frankly, I would rather take the bullet to the head.
  3. I would see a terrible chick flick with you and not fall asleep or play on my phone for the duration.
  4. I would listen to you prattle on about drama among your friends that you are only perpetuating by constantly talking about it and act like I cared.
  5. I would bite my tongue when I am actually dying to ask how much all the bags of clothes cost that you just waltzed in with.

These are things I think would make a good love song.  Well…probably a really bad song, but it would be sincere and, more than likely, incredibly amusing to listen to.


It’s not a date!, Pinky and The Brain do Pizza, and Boy Band – no s

My week thus far has been interesting…ish.  On Sunday I met up with a guy I had met at the dog park during my week of dog sitting and I think I did something wrong.  See, when I met Mr. Dog Park it was at night and he was wearing a hat so I didn’t really pay much attention to what he looked like figuring I would never see him again but of course, at the end of the night, he asked for my number because he is semi new to the area and wanted me to show him around Dallas.  So we were going to the gun range and possibly food afterwards but come Sunday I didn’t feel like doing either so I reluctantly dragged myself to the range thinking shooting something might alter my mood.  I ended up walking in first and was about to text Dog Park when he walked in because I heard, “behind you.”  When I turned around I thought I was facing the doppleganger for Andre from The League.  A younger version of him but him none the less.  In all honesty he kind of talked like him too.  It was weird.

Paul Scheer

Turned out that shooting did nothing to change my mood.  Maybe because I hate indoor ranged or maybe because I prefer rifles but I was done after a few shots and ready to leave. When I told Dog Park I was done he seemed bemused and looked at me like I had just spoken in a different language.  I left the range and sat inside to wait for him to finish feeling only slightly bad that I had wasted his time.  Before I had left for the range Mr. Perfect told me that it was a date but I was quite adamant in informing him that it was most definitely not since we were just going to hang out.  But since Sunday I have not heard from Dog Park and I am thinking Mr. Perfect might have been right about the whole date thing.  In which case I am a complete bitch.  But whatever, I can’t ALWAYS be perfect.  Although, apparently Mr. Perfect is always right.  It’s fucking annoying.

So the rest of Sunday was spent relaxing and dreading work the next morning.  Unfortunately, upon getting up when I didn’t want to, making myself presentable when makeup seemed like a time-wasting enemy, and driving all the way there when I suddenly had a personal vendetta towards everyone on the road, I arrived in the parking lot only to find out that – lucky me – work was closed.  President’s Day and all that. If only someone had informed me of this, that would have been nice because I don’t know about you, but I absolutely live for getting up early when there is no need for it as well as wasting gas.  It is on my list of top ten favorite activities, right up there with getting paper cuts, ending a relationship, and having bacon grease pop in my eye.  Though I suppose if I am going to do all those things I don’t want to finding out that you have the day off is probably the best pot of gold you could find at the end of that shit rainbow.

After being completely lazy the rest of the day Brain invited me to come over for wine, pizza, and a movie where I got to have some seriously good girl talk with a girl that I am seriously glad I met! You know those people in your life that you meet almost by accident and, after a spell, realize that you aren’t quite sure how you have lived so long without them?  She is one of those people.  We are similar in all the right ways and always have something to talk about.  We both practice tolerance towards people with differing opinions and care about sports more than normal and it is pretty awesome, we should all have friends like this.

We chose to watch The Perks of Being a Wallflower which was better than I ever imagined.  I know I liked the book but the movie may have been better.  And when the movie was almost over and I was wondering what I would do after I got a message from a friend who I hadn’t seen in awhile asking if I wanted to hang out, which I most definitely did.  We met at my bar and my entrance was poetic.  Since it was my bar I knew several people there, most of whom I hadn’t seen in quite awhile so I went around and said hi and hugged everyone before making a proper greeting to the friend I had actually come to see.  I felt cool. But I am most decidedly not.  This made me happy.

So…my friend…He had boy band hair without even trying. It was beyond fantastic. I touched it and I promise you there was no product in it, or at least it didn’t feel like it. I wanted to take a picture with him and post it on Facebook and just caption it, “OMG! GUESS WHO I MET!” just to see how many people would try and guess some random person.  I wouldn’t admit it out loud but I have a love for boy bands because I was, after all, once a teeny-bopper and couldn’t help but be obsessed with NSYNC and Backstreet Boys. Even now I love/hate boy bands. Mostly hate because…well…they are boy bands and generally make me want to pierce my eardrums with blunt pencils…repeatedly. But I can’t help loving One Direction for the simple fact that when I was sad and felt unattractive post-breakup with HIM my soulmate would always randomly send me lyrics to “What Makes You Beautiful” and now every time I hear that song I have to turn it up and belt it out. No matter what mood I’m in it will instantly make me happy. If Boy Band had broke out into that song I would have taken him at the bar! I’m just kidding…I would have at least taken it out to the parking lot.  I’m classy like that.

I went onto YouTube just now to get the video and post it here for those of you unlucky people who have never experienced the horrifying greatness of this song and realized that I had never watched the video.  Now…there is so much fun to be made about the video but I won’t start.  I know you will do enough of that for yourself.  It is so bad that, had my soulmate not given me a reason to love it, I would completely hate it. There is one good thing that came from watching this, it reminded me that when I brought up One Direction to Boy Band that he mentioned their being English.  HE brought it up.  I had no idea.  Maybe we have a One Direction connection!

Until next time, remember to stay popular, always assume it’s a date, and never underestimate the power of your hair.  And may your week be stocked with liquor, filled with friends, and ended with madness.


Little Rubber Band Ball

Today is my second to last day at this particular temp job and I have next to nothing to do so I decided my time would be well spend writing. It makes sense…I promise.  (Generally I am so bored I am afraid that someone will slap a SKU number on me and haul me to the local lumber yard.  If they do I hope I get put with the MDF…I would make a fucking wicked bookshelf.  I’d organize the shit out of those books!  And scare the owners.)

See, normally, I would have a ton to do but Tuesday they decided to inform me that something I had been spending hours doing every day did not in fact need to be done. Mind you, on day THREE of the job I sat with someone who showed me how to do exactly what I had been doing.  I even still have the notes written on my notepad in my desk and yet…This is week eight…at what point did they notice this? And why did they take so long to tell me? I was glad for the work because opening and sorting the mail does not take eight hours every day. Nor does looking up the loan numbers from all the bills. And somehow they are always impressed at how quickly I get it done. I open and sort my mail at home too, it ain’t rocket science!

Since I have next to nothing to do until my supervisor gets in (which isn’t until 9 and I get here at 7) I decided to spend my time very wisely. By making a rubber band ball. Every day the mail comes wrapped in rubber bands so I have been collecting them in my drawer…

For these eight weeks I have been dying to make a ball, so now is the time!

7:40 am


The larger it gets the more difficult it becomes to hide it. If anybody asks why/how I have a rubber band ball on my desk I will have to come up with something. Like…”I left them in the drawer and when I came in this morning they had formed a ball. Maybe they are like the Avengers…’Rubber Bands, Assemble!’ I dunno. Shit happens…”

Do you think they would buy it?

8:30 am


I do a little work, open a few envelopes, then tell myself that I will only wrap a few rubber bands….it is always more than a few. Can I make this my job? Cause I am having way more fun doing this.

9:20 am The finished product:


I realize that they probably all look the same size, but it did grow, I swear!  I named it Chuck, as in, “Bitch, I will chuck this at you if you suggest I start answering phones in the Customer Service Center one more time!”  Honestly, they would regret it.  I am good at customer service…on a good day.  But I know absolutely nothing about mortgages or loans and having me answer the phone would end up with a lot of transferred calls and frustration – mostly on the part of everyone else who had to take my fielded calls because I would be having fun playing with Chuck and counting down the hours until I was out of there for good.

The people there aren’t bad or anything, it just isn’t my sort of atmosphere.  I mean, I heard someone laugh today and the first thought that popped into my head was, “Goddamnit!  I am so tired of hearing people laugh!”  I was immediately reminded of Vicky (icky with a V) from Fairly Odd Parents – “I HEAR HAPPY!”  It was at that moment that I realized I was grouchy.  Call me Oscar and put me in a trash can.  I hate everyone.  Or at least I did right then. And I don’t like feeling like that because I am naturally (much to my dismay) a nice, somewhat happy, loving person.  I often try to pretend that I am tough and bitchy but that only comes out every once in awhile, like when some drunk skank keeps bumping into me at a bar and nobody she is with is doing anything stop her.  That ho almost went down…if only Mr. Perfect hadn’t stopped me.  Such an asshole.

5:00 pm

I am now at home, playing with Chuck and knocking things down on my desk when he goes rogue.  Maybe he is more of a Transformer than an Avenger, only time will tell.  BUT! I have only one more day at that white walled hell and then I get to house/pet sit for a week.  I am so incredibly excited about this, you have no idea.  Lots of writing and job hunting will be done and…I may or may not relate it all to you.  Even though I doubt you care.  I WILL MAKE YOU CARE!!!  I’m going to make you snort mac and cheese out of your nose.  And freaking like it.

In the mean time I hope your next few days are filled with moonwalking cars, black…, bomb ass mustache sitings, and liquor filled piñatas.


Freebirds, Moonwalks, Mustaches, and Alcohol. Now that’s a good weekend.

When I got home from work this afternoon I made myself a small bowl of cereal and my dad asked me, “cereal time?  Did you not eat lunch?”  I told him that I had brought some chicken but didn’t eat it…at least not all of it (I never rarely eat lunch).  What followed made me laugh a little on the inside because it is something I had been thinking about at work earlier.  He asked if I had kept it refrigerated and, when I inquired as to why he asked he said because it could cause bacteria to grow if kept warm.  Now, this isn’t exactly an abnormal conversation, in fact I’m sure many people worry about food bacteria, but this afternoon I was reminded of a snippet of conversation I overheard in the office a few weeks back so it makes this somewhat amusing.  Someone there asked at large if anyone wanted the other half of her blueberry muffin and one man’s response was, “I haven’t had my flu shot.”  (I can’t make this shit up, people.  That was his response.)  After that a conversation began among everyone about the flu and the flu shot and who has it, who had it, and who doesn’t want to get it; it was then that I tuned them out since the only time I ever get shots is when  forced by an institution – not because of my irrational fear of needles, but because I don’t believe in sickness.  I just don’t.  I think it’s all in our heads.  When I DO feel like something may be attacking me I seek out homeopathic remedies like honey, and tea!

Anyway, back on point!  For some reason, after I was reminded of this conversation I wondered if anybody else ever left food out on purpose to test the whole, “could get sick” theory.  Because I do.  A lot.  And I never get sick.  Never even get an upset tummy.  I’m not quite positive why I do this, but I think it has to do with the fact that I haven’t ever gotten severely sick before – both the flu and chicken pox were kind enough to stay out of my life, too  – and it is almost as though I want to test myself.  Maybe I still have the delusion that I’m somehow invincible.  Inside AND out!  Honestly, this just furthers my plea of psychosis.

But this is where my mind wanders when I am bored at work.  I spent all day opening mail.  Well…almost all day.  About twenty of those minutes were spent stuffing and addressing envelopes, but if my days were recorded and you rewound that part it would still look like I was opening that little stack of mail!  That would be interesting…if you watched the whole day backwards it would look like I spend my day taking papers from a stack, deftly folding them, and stuffing them into an envelope before stacking them in another nice, neat, pile…that I would then un-organize and put into lots of small, messy piles.  Backward or forward it is still a boring job that provides me more hours in Saraville than should be allowed.

Speaking of going in reverse though, yesterday the FedEx guy tried to run into my car…kind of.  As he was walking to the door to drop off a package his truck began to roll back, he dropped the package, ran, and jumped back into the truck.  I’m not quite sure how close he came to Jorma but I was not happy either way.  But then again, maybe it had nothing to do with him.  Maybe he HAD put it in park and put on the break but the truck decided to moon walk.  Because that’s what vehicles do when they are going backwards.  Mr. Perfect pointed this out to me a few weeks ago when I was confused by a truck driving backwards through a parking lot and now every time I see someone back up that is what pops into my head.  And now it will pop into your head.  Heh!

I know I said that this weekend wasn’t this eventful but I forgot to mention the part where Mr. Perfect attempted to eat an entire Super Monster burrito from Freebirds.  Have you seen these things?  They are HUGE!  It is the largest one they have (on the menu) and it involves two very ginormous tortillas and practically all the contents of the food bar rolled into one scrumptious meal.  It also happens to be the size of Mr. Perfect’s forearm.


I figured he would easily be able to finish this sucker because…well…I’ve seen him eat.  Kid can put it away!  But!  This proved just too much even for him.


He only got 2/3 of the way through it but, sadly, he finished more of his than I did of mine.  I probably should have taken a picture of mine but it was about 1/4 the size of his…and then I rubbed the food coma he was suffering from in his face by eating coffee ice cream.  I’m also fairly sure there was beer involved but I doubt he abstained from that.  I know it was only a few days ago but it already feels like forevers ago because that’s how weekday time works.  It lasts longer than weekend time, in case you were wondering.

When I hang out with Mr. Perfect our weekends seem to be filled with food, booze, coffee, Netflix, and dog parks all interspersed with randomness and stupid jokes.  We are both addicted to caffeine so post morning dog park runs are usually followed by coffee and he almost always gets super bitter coffee that he complains about while continuing to drink it.  Because that’s what you do!  You know you have done it several times, don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.  Mostly only with caffeine or alcohol though since neither of those should go to waste.  Ever.  I don’t care how bad it is, ya drink it.  The highlight of the Starbucks run this time though was the guy at the drive through.  This guy had a mustache for reals.  We liked him before we pulled up to the window because he said “yea-yuh” when Mr. Perfect said his version of a “thank you,” but once the mustache came into play it was love.  This fucker was bomb ass.  It was like a mini-handlebar mustache but awesomer.  I wanted to be this guys friend.  I came this close to jumping through the window and paparazzi-ing his ass.  Fortunately I was in the passenger seat and that just would have been awkward.  Or amazing.  One of the two.

I have been writing for far too long now and I still have more to say, so, really, that means I should have stopped quite awhile ago.  It is only Tuesday and feels like it should be Thursday so may your week be filled with stress reducing piñata’s full of liquor and money.  <–I always come up with these endings last minute and that actually sounds like a really fantastic idea, so, who wants to help me make one of these?!?  I’m thinking dollar bills and those pocket shots.  And glitter.  Inside a unicorn.



Barbie’s, Beer, and Best Friends

This morning I woke up to my alarm clock interrupting a dream about work.  I must admit, if I am going to be woken up it might as well be one that takes me away from work…because work should stay at work and remain completely absent from my dream land. Nightmares are one thing, I can handle that, but work??  That’s just not right.  Very similar to keeping coffee away from me in the morning.  If I walk into work and someone says, “good morning” to me and I’m not on my second cup that good better be rescinded very quickly.  Fortunately for them very few people actually say anything to me in the morning and it is usually just, “morning.”  Smart people.

On my way to work, I decided to take a new route and zipped my way through Addison Circle (YIELD signs are simply precautionary.  They’ll slow down once they see you!) passing a convenience store with a sign outside that said “BEER AND WINE TO GO.”  My first question is why did they feel the need to put the sign on the sidewalk literally two feet from the neon sign that proclaimed the exact same thing in much larger letters and in a much more obnoxiously glaring way.  Second, I know we have all seen those signs but why do they need the TO GO part?  We all know we can’t consume the product on the premises (they have signs saying it’s illegal or something. Jerks.) so of course it is TO GO.  Or do they mean you can drive up?  Because you can’t.  I’ve tried.  Nobody comes out to your car to serve you.  False advertising in my opinion!  Okay, maybe I was only stopped to let someone out and wait for them to purchase what they needed – so not the point!

Unfortunately I arrived at work much faster than I wanted so I took some extra me time in my car and decided to look at my eHarmony matches.  (If you would like to know more about my foray into eHarmony you can read it from beginning to end – my romances are short lived.)  I said I wouldn’t go looking for anybody anymore but since I have already paid for six months of the damn thing I figure I might as well.  The beauty of online dating is that you don’t have to meet them.  If you get to that point and you just don’t feel up to it is quite simple to say no.  If they ask for your number it is much simpler to type “no” than it is to say it to someone’s face.  Not that I have never done it, but I always feel bad afterward. So, last night I decided to get back into it after my one failed attempt – it being a new year and all – and responded to people that had been bugging me that I never had the heart to look at because I was still…hoping…I guess.  But now it is time to face facts and see if anybody else can strike my fancy as much.  Very highly unlikely though cause Mr. Perfect has best friend potential ya’ll.  We are way too alike.  It’s actually kind of nice.  Back to my point…on eHarmony the first step is sending your match five questions (answer choices provided) and hope that they will answer back.  I had never gotten this question before so when I read it I was slightly confuzzled.  It had to do with soulmates and whether or not I believed in them (let’s just set aside the fact that I’m a Ginger and do not in fact have a soul).  The answers ranged from, basically, “Yes, there is one person for everyone!” to “no, I don’t believe in that sissy shit.”  I wanted to answer honestly but thought they might take it the wrong way.

If you have followed my blog even slightly you will probably already know that I HAVE a soulmate. (Examples of how much I love her can be found with Vampire Worms and when amazing things happen) My best friend is my soulmate.  End of story.  Without her I wouldn’t be whole.  She completes me.  So, yes, I believe in soulmates.  But I don’t think that your soulmate has to be the person you marry.  Nobody will ever replace her.  I talk to her practically every day (there was this span of four days when we didn’t talk at all and I thought she was avoiding me and she thought I was avoiding her and…it sucked) and when I don’t talk to her I can feel her.  I literally feel her.  When she is sad, I’m sad.  When something is wrong, I get anxious.  And the same happens to her.  This happens maybe 50% of the time because the other 50% of the time we are in the same mood.

I don’t know, maybe a person can have more than one soulmate, but for now she is it.  So how did I answer that question?  Correctly.  I said everyone has a soulmate.  I just didn’t inform them that I already found mine.  Honestly people, how can she not be my soulmate?  Who else would be able to carry on this conversation with me?:

Me:  I wonder if Barbie ever gets upset that she can’t give Ken a blow job.

N: I’d be a little more upset that I didn’t have a vagina.

Me: How the hell did Kelly get in the picture?  It’s just impossible.  She must be asexual.

N: Why do you say that?  Barbie doesn’t have a vagina either.

Me: That’s what I’m saying, no way Kelly could be born.  There was no way to make her.

N: Oh, test tube maybe?  or maybe Barbie’s are pod people.

Me: Probably pod people.  They do always smile, and I’ve never once seen them blink.  Creepers.

N: It’s like the Stepford community.  They are probably plotting world domination.  That’s why they make them so pretty, so little girls will want them so they can be in almost EVERY HOUSEHOLD. And they are just lying in wait for the signal to come to life and kill us all in our sleep.

Me: OMG!  You are right!  We should probably warn people.  Or just make it our mission in life to destroy them before they have the chance to fulfill their destiny.

N: They have been making them for years.  They have people helping them.  Maybe the government is plotting with them.  Or the government is pod people too…

N: And they are using the Barbie’s to spy on people.  That’s how they ALWAYS KNOW. OMFG!

Me:  Dude I was going to say the government was behind it too!  They ARE pod people!  Big Brother in the form of Barbie.  Nobody would suspect it.

Me:  The government started it but Barbie got too smart and took them over.  The government THINKS they are in control but really Barbie took over a loooooong time.  They’re all pod people now, they just don’t know it.

N (actually her boyfriend): By pod you mean plastic, molded, easy to melt, can’t do anything.  OH…and fun to shoot.

N: Thank you [boyfriend].

N: He doesn’t understand…He will be easily taken down by Barbie and her clones.

Me:  Yes.  He will.  You just wait [boyfriend]!

Me:  They only LOOK plastic.  Obviously they are made of something different, indestructible.

N: Well duh, it only makes sense.  They wait until you throw them away and regenerate themselves and crawl back into your house.  That’s how you always end up finding them again…

Me:  Exactly.  They can change property like in Terminator II.

N:  OMG that Disney movie that makes so much sense now!!!

Me: Lol, which one?  Toy Story or Small Soldiers?

N: Small Soldiers!!!

N:  Omg what if G.I. Joe’s are behind it too?!?!?! They are made by the same company!!!


Me:  We’re screwed.

N:  I think [boyfriend] is a pod person…



Me:  Barbie is in charge (cause women are smarter) but G.I. Joe is helping with tactics.  Barbie had to make sure they had eyes in every house so they recruited Joe’s.

Me:  She is confused.  She is only half pod.  Half of her wants to and half of her doesn’t.  She is like seriously bi-polar.  BUT I TOLD YOU SHE WAS A NINJA!

N:  Omg she is a hybrid!!! She could be our savior!!

Me:  Yes!!! WE NEED HER FOR THE GOOD OF MANKIND!!  I’m godmamma to the savior of the world!

N:  Woohoo!!! Her big bulbous baby head is going to [cause me much pain coming out] for the greater good of mankind!!!

Me:  I’m glad we figured this all out now.  New we can make sure we raise her with the proper morals and training.

N:  Ninja training…

Me: She must be homeschooled.  Otherwise the pod people will sense her and recruit her.

N:  Omg I wonder who all they have under their thumbs.

Me:  Oprah.  For sure.

N: Obama.

Me:  Schwarzenegger.

N: The Queen of England for sure, possibly the whole royal family…

Me:  Definitely.  But Diana was on to them so they got rid of her.  Poor Diana.

Me:  Tom Cruise.

N:  Kristen Stewart.

Me:  Bill Gates.

N:  Taylor Swift, I hate to say it but she fits the bill.

Me:  Papa John.

N:  All those evil people from high school that were eerily perfect.

Me:  Fuckers.  Should have known.

N:  That’s how they make the “popular” group…They brainwash them.

Me:  OMG! Mean Girls…The Plastics!

Me:  The movie industry is trying to give us subtle hints.  Someone in Hollywood is in their ranks but looking out for us.  They just can’t come right out and say it.

N:  Omg it makes so much sense now!!!

Me:  Not I HAVE to make movies.  How else will we get the message out?

N:  We wouldn’t!!! Subliminal messaging!!!

Oddly enough this conversation occurred the night before our savior was born.  Coincidence?  I THINK NOT!!

When all else seems hopeless, when I feel worthless, or when life looks better from the top of a building all I have to do is remember her and remember that in all this chaos and hate and shit that makes up the world I have my soulmate.  And everything is easier to take.

Here is hoping you find your soulmate!  And that yours is as amazing as mine is.  Together we could rule the world.  And one day we just might with the help of our Ninja Savior!


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