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Just to say that I think I’ve found the worst object in the world.
Take care out there.
Don’t look directly at it!
What were the names of the other mugs to the left and right of it?
The type of person who owns this, looks like this:
The mug on the right is green and says “I’ve got a tiny NOB”. The one on the left I actually can’t explain; it just says “twunt waffle”.
I… there’s… why would anyone do such a thing? Was it a dare?
The worst thing is that there was lots of space on the shelf, so I can only conclude that these mugs had been selling bells.
People were buying them to smash them in the street and laugh loudly. That’s what you should have been doing, to get rid of them from existence.
Let’s hope that’s what they were doing. Though I think there’s also an argument to be made for finding whoever designed this, taking one of the mugs to them, and cracking it over their head.
How does someone live with themselves knowing that they created tat such as this?
I once invented a squirrel nailed to a piece of wood and I believe that this has contributed more to the world than these mugs ever have.
It certainly has. When I look at you, I be inspired, but when I look at these mugs, I be illin’.
These mugs will forever be in a perpetual state of illin’. You mate you’re chillin’. Never forget how much chillin’ you’re capable of.
This is a major relief. All the illin’ I’d been doin’ since I was seein’ these mugs has been evaporatin’, thanks to your kind decisin’ that it’s the mugs that now be perma-illin’.
I be chillin’.
That’s good. You carry on doing that. Even if the mug wasn’t illin’ then Kev has been doing it for, ooo, well well over twelve months. He’s always got you, and me, and even Daisy, covered.
Good old Daisy. I’m glad she’s chillin’. She’s had a hard life and she deserves some of that, especially now her ear’s gone missin’.
I am still self-flagellating following my gross misdeed. I did try to keep her in one piece but I failed.
I may have been looking after her for 20 years now; it’s no excuse for my transgressions. Do I need another punishment?
Another punishment? Lord no. This level of masochism is simply unnecessary. You and Daisy need to sit down together, reconnect, talk through your experiences, come to terms with what happened, find closure, and move on. Or just get drunk together. Either will do.
I have put her at the foot of my bed so we can chat each night before I go to sleep. She’s a sleep cow!
There you go. Healing, not punishment. That’s the key.
You’re right. All I ever want to do is destroy things, not build them back up again. Thank you for showing me the error of my ways.
As the ancient Egyptians always said: if you’re going to rebuild things, rebuild them around a cow.
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