He elaborated in very disgusting detail that density in a pus-pocket was not only alarming, but disappointing. "What's better than popping a pus-pocket? Not much. I felt robbed."
Robbed he wasn't. Turns out what he thought was a personal loss in what is equivalent only to booger-picking, scab-peeling juvenility, was actually a gain of 25 cents. Doctors lanced the blister and removed ol' wooden-teeth himself.
"When I hired that man for my daughter's anniversary, I was excited for some [expletive] tricks. Usually quarters are found behind the ear, usually. I thought he'd dropped it because he didn't pull it back out after he asked 'what's behind your ear!?' and it'd fallen on the grass or something. Never did I expect it inside me." reported Bunt.
"I'm just glad he left my daughter intact. I'd rather be filled with quarters, rabbits, whatever else than have my daughter's torso not be with her legs or vajayjay [sic]. He got that one right."
However, Bunt's laments aren't without scorn for the illusory sorcerer:
"Every time I clear my throat, I'm afraid of coughing up that 3 of clubs he never recovered or...god-forbid, that endless rainbow-ribbon. His tricks are cruel and he needs to work on his technique. I don't want any other families to go through this hardship"
[...]
"My wife has inspected my feces. She's found nothing but every reason to leave me. And yet she stays. That's the real magic, magic you can't buy."
We literally cannot find the magician for a statement.
We literally cannot find the magician for a statement.
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