small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table

Monday, April 5

The two men aboard the international space station heard a strange metallic sound again Friday, four months after being startled by it the first time.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

and the monkey flipped the switch


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