The trouble with political jokes is that they get elected.
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After a long walk with Daughter and the Nugget, and after the shadow of the house covered the front yard, I weeded the lawn. I don't bend or crouch or kneel. I lay on my stomach, and crawl like a commando going under barbed wire. It's the only way.
I have solved the mystery of what's going on in Andrew Weith's "Christina's World". She's pulling nutgrass from the lawn.
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1 comment:
Thank you! That's a great tip.
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