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A Christmas Poem

Listen I don’t think that I have a great way of dancing or something like that but if the chicken wings fit in the morning and my hayride is not wet you can call me angel on Tuesday.

The final spaceship launches at dawn. And that is obviously when the pies are home. I have a sad ladder. Donna summer treats the Astronauts like old bats. This is extremely important.

Merry Christmas.

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