Drag Bingo


A fabulous evening with the captivating Miss Melony Breasts and the talented Miss Sal Monella.  It was the Bison Bar – the same venue as the Datson + Hughes single launch.  And I won the final call, and was presented with the coveted Bingo Scrubber award, so now I can die happy.



134 Responses

  1. Truly Madam, your life has moments of delightful weirdness. That’s an award for the mantlepiece.

  2. I only wish I had a pool room.

  3. The woman who owns the Kerrigan house is knocking it down. No more pool room. It’s un-Australian!

  4. Haha to the above, but I wondered if the prize was a comment on your esteemed person, as in ‘a bit of a scrubber’. I think the Cockney reference is the one applicable, if accurate. Who knows? But an honour nevertheless.

  5. Gee, thanks Stafford. No, it was just a happy coincidence – whoever got Bingo first would have received the award.

  6. Gran’s bingo sessions award Freddo Frogs to the winners. Gran is very good at bingo, but doesn’t eat Freddo Frogs. Aaaaand now you know why I visit her so often.

    • They should give them something they’ll enjoy. Like wine gums, or barbiturates.

      • Or prune juice.

      • Hey Catty, I’m trying the polka dot cake for tomorrow. My first batch of balls weren’t really great – too flattened on top. But the second lot were nice and round and Fifi says she approved. Couldn’t find the right mould for them so I bought a silicone tray for spherical iceblocks and heat-tested it. Apart from that, a different pan, dodgy colours and a few other changes, I’m following the recipe exactly.

    • Good one, GB! I’d wondered if those silicone trays would work. PB’s going to love it! You’re a good grandad.

  7. Heeheeeheeee

  8. There’s a new lady at the nursing home who is very critical and judgemental. She and her husband sit in the corner, muttering about the other residents. Sometimes their daughter visits, and mum tells the daughter to go up to the other residents and ask them questions. Recently the daughter came over and asked Gran why she wipes between the prongs of her fork before she eats. Gran scowled at her and said, “Why? Do you have a problem with it?”, and the daughter went bright red and scurried off. I had a laugh at that story when Gran told me about it. Later when I left, Gran put a little eggcup of fresh parsley on her walker because she was going to the dining area for lunch after seeing me out. (She likes parsley. I’ve warned her about getting pregnant, but she just tells me to shut up). We were walking through the lounge when the daughter marched over to Gran and asked what she had in the eggcup. Gran scowled and said, “Parsley. And I’m wearing blue undies.” She yoinked down her pants and waved her arse at the daughter before turning sideways to wave her arse at the mother. It was hilarious! Gran says they haven’t asked her a single question since. I love Gran.

  9. Brilliant. 🙂
    If someone came up to me & asked me why I was wiping down the fork I’d have said ‘To get the boogers off. Didn’t you read the orientation pamphlet?’

    • Hehehe. Gran’s just shown me the one downside of going commando.

      • (Snorts tea)

  10. True. They’ve got a thing for using iron-on nametags on the residents’ reggies, so you’d probably have to get your name tattooed on your bum just to shut them up.

  11. Oh yes, the iron-on name tags. Mum drove them nuts by getting me to bring up wardrobes full of clothes (that she could never wear).

  12. LOL! Gran constantly needs labels too, but not because she has a big wardrobe. It’s because her wardrobe has a high turnover. She’s extremely minimalist and is constantly throwing things away, including her clothes. The nurses are used to seeing Gran totter out of her room in her undergarments to riffle through the bin for some item of clothing she tossed in there the day before. MIL hates it, because she keeps getting phone calls from the nursing home to say that the bins have been emptied so Gran has nothing to wear. “It’s my wedding dress all over again!”, huffs MIL. The story there is that Gran had thrown out her old dusting cloths, so she had nothing to use for cleaning. She dug MIL’s stored wedding dress out of its box, hacked it into squares and used them to do her dusting. MIL refuses to forgive her.

    • Wow that’s extreme. My Grandma had to cut her wedding dress up to make baby clothes fur Mum (war-time fabric rationing). Mum cut the train off hers and died it orange to make a cocktail frock. But that takes the CAEK.

  13. Speaking of extreme cutting, I had a frantic phone call from The Gimmee yesterday. She needed me to come over and fix her hair. She said she had been trying for weeks to get the knots out but she was at her wit’s end, AND she’d discovered a few nits. It was inconvenient, as I had just discovered the guinea pig has piggy lice and I needed to go to the pet shop for mange spray.

    I agreed to go there after I’d dealt with piggy. The poor little pig has a bald spot from the lice so I wanted to deal with that asap. While I was out getting spray, I picked up some supplies (conditioner, nit shampoo, de-tangling brush, K-mart’s excellent Decadent cookies) for The Gimmee. I dropped the spray off for The Boss and MK to use, then headed off to tend to my infested Firstborn. Oh. My. God. The Horror! You can’t imagine how bad her hair was. Years of bleaching, dyeing and stripping, combined with a lack of maintenance and hygiene, had left her hair looking like a Barbie doll’s head after a rottweiler has played with it. Even her housemate with dredds was horrified.

    After an hour of fruitless attempts to detangle, The Gimmee had a meltdown and demanded that we (Garden Gnome was there) shave her head. I thought we might be able to salvage enough of her hair to manage a lesbian cut, but reminded her of the rare and unpleasant occasions when I had attempted to give her and her siblings haircuts in the past. Let’s just say it’s not in my skillset. I told her that if I hacked off her giant, unruly dredd, she would need to go straight to a hairdresser after the nit treatment, to get her hair styled. Gnome held her tight and assured her he didn’t love her just for her hair and I bit my lip so that I didn’t say, “no, he loves you for the filthy sex”, because the poor girl was already a mess. (See? I DO care!) Off came the hair. I did the hacking while The Gimmee sobbed into a box of chicken nuggets. Then I did the lice treatment. Again, Oh. My. God. I have never in my life seen so many lice! There were several thousand. I am not exaggerating – the horrid little things were clumping in the lice comb. It was terrifying, and I was so glad I’d put my hair up and was wearing a hoodie. And gloves. I shudder to think how many lice were in the hair I’d hacked off, if there were that many in the little hair she had left on her head.

    I tried to check for nits, but the poor Gimmee’s scalp was covered in sores and huge chunks of scabby flakes. Geez, and I thought the piggy had mange! While this was going on, Garden Gnome surfed the internet for nearby hairdressers, but everything shuts at 4 on a Sunday and it was well past that. So I cleaned up the bathroom while the shorn Gimmee sobbed in Gnome’s arms, and he promised to pay for a haircut and colour as soon as the hairdressers opened in the morning. I warned against a colour – it was colouring that wrecked her hair, and her scalp is in no condition to handle any more chemical attacks. Then I demanded coffee, Decadent cookies and cigarettes.

    Oh. My. God. (I’m saying that a lot, aren’t I?) You’d think I’d asked her to sacrifice a goat to me! She huffed and pouted, then eventually, and reluctantly, made me a coffee. But then she hid the box of cookies in a cupboard and held her hand out for my smokes. I didn’t expect (or get) an offer to pay for the expensive lice shampoo I’d brought, nor was I surprised that she didn’t even offer me one of her chicken nuggets (I would have refused anyway, they had snot and tears all over them). I wasn’t even surprised that she botted my durries. But I brought the biscuits to share, and for her to be so affronted that I would ask for one (after what I had just endured) really got to me. I have no idea why, as I’m not normally like that, but I felt like I was being used. It just seemed beyond rude. I left before she could bot any more durries.

    When I got home several hours later, I asked how they’d gone with the mange spray. They hadn’t gotten around to it yet. So I had to do it. Despite the biting and scratching, it was much easier than treating The Gimmee.

    These things always come in threes. Who is next?

    • Oh Catty! You poor thing. I was going to say that my scalp was a bit itchy but I haven’t the heart to tease.

      • Thank you GB. Your compassion is appreciated. When I take over the world, I will instruct my zombie minions to spare you. It’s the least I can do.

  14. Oh dear Lord, noooo and why?

    Does she lack the normal human scalp-al itch receptors? How in the hell could she cope with such a severe infestation? On the unfortunate occasion when I’ve picked up one or two from some feral child or other, I’ve found it unbearable until I treated, In fact I’ve treated often and not been able to find one of the little buggers on the comb.

    I’ll never recover from reading that story … also, why did you not treat The Gnome, too?!

    Also, that ungrateful child would never get another biscuit from me.

    • Maybe the Gnome could be treated with a flame-thrower?

    • Plus side, I’ve thought of a new get-rich-quick scheme for us. Clearly there’s a market for a nit-treatment that doses every member of a feral household in the same way that you’d treat a plague of Fleas.
      I give you…drum roll, Ta Da…The Feral Nit Bomb.

    • The dredded housemate treated himself by dousing his hair in Vodka, and didn’t wash it out. He doesn’t have nits, so it must have worked.

  15. Sounds like a serious substance abuse problem to me, Catty. WTF is she on, that she can live like that?

  16. Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy???!!!

  17. I have theories about how and why The Gimmee lives like that, but there’s no real way of knowing for sure. Birth trauma? Inherited narcissism? Mental illness? Nobody knows, and I doubt anyone ever would. The Gnome said he had treated himself for lice the day before, so that was o.k. I strongly suspect that my advice to treat her bedding was studiously ignored, too, so she’ll be swarming with lice again in a week. I’ll have a sneaky squiz when she comes over for her birthday later this week. Yeah, I’m expected to give her money and CAEK, as well as cook her a nice meal. How fun! *rolls eyes*

    • That’s motherhood for you. The fun’s never done.

      • I used to gently chide my mother for worrying so much about us. We were happy, the kids were healthy, we both had steady jobs. Then came Jen’s epilepsy, the depression x 5, the broken relationships x 3 (and horribly x 2 more), lovely people dying too young etc, etc. Your kids are always your kids, even when they’re going grey or have kids of their own. And you never, ever get to stop worrying about them.

  18. Well, I guess that depends on who your mother is. But yes, the nit incident is merely the latest in a long string of times I’ve knowingly let her con me and use me because I love her and want to look after her. It’s often exasperating, but I rarely get upset about it. I’m surprised I was upset this time, and I’m sure I’ll get over it before the next desperate plea for help. And it does make a cool horror story. “Night Of The Living Lice.” You’ll gasp! You’ll scream! You’ll scritch!

  19. I haven’t stopped scritching since I read it. i found it more disturbing than the Blood Eagle episode of Vikings.

    Catty, some day she’s going to look back on how selfish and unpleasant she’s been to you, and feel bad. Probably. Unless she really is a malignant narcissist (father’s side), in which case it will be all your fault forever. Sadly, once we feel them kick inside us and we smell their soft little heads they have a hold on us that not even death can unclench. You are so very good to that wretched child. Don’t feel bad that for once you acted and felt like a person who might deserve to be treated with, you know, respect.

    • Um, MM, if you reword that paragraph it sounds just like that thing that abused women tell themselves about bad men.
      My experience dealing with the disordered & the addicted is that they don’t change, eventually you burn out & can’t do it any more, and that’s the point where they fly into a rage & tell everyone they know how mean you are.
      This is what a qualified support group will teach you – you can’t expect them to change via Disney Myths & the ‘if only I love you enough’ magic wand – you have to change what you’re doing, and work out a contract with them that if X is unacceptable, then you aren’t going to accommodate it.
      Otherwise you’re just heading for burnout.
      Sad fact of the matter, unfortunately.

  20. I do worry about that. *scritchscritch*Her father was the poster boy for narcissism, and there’s quite a bit of it in Mother’s family too. The Gimmee is very much like my mother. *scritchscritchscritch* Meanwhile, the Boss has checked my head and although there were no nits *scritch*, there was quite a bit of cradle cap from the most recent fibromyalgia flareup after my bout of ‘flu. *scritchscritch*. Dandruff shampoo and several naps should see that clear up in no time. Oh, I love school holidays! So many naps! *scritch*

    How are you coping with the school holidays, Madam? What shenanigans are your boys up to?

  21. The mental health worker that helped me to deal with my sister said that the reason they stay stuck in the dysfunctional behaviours is because people unwittingly keep reinforcing them. It took me years to realise that I’d been trained from birth to pander to a narcissist and that was why I wound up surrounded by them as an adult.This is why I keep pestering you to do an ARAFMI course & read Melody Beattie’s ‘codependent no more’.
    Just remember that you always have a choice to do as much as you are comfortable to do, and not enough to push you into feeling like they’ve walked all over you – again.
    It’s a point I have to keep making to the Bloke, because his family refuse to upgrade his role from ‘doormat’ to ‘reciprocal relationship with someone we value’. And it’s why I give him a good ‘WTF, Seriously?’ every time he lapses back into it.
    Spend my birthday waiting on his niece, indeed.
    When I said to him ‘Um, Friday is my birthday,’ his response wasn’t ‘Oh of course, where do you want to go for lunch,’ it was in aggrieved tones of ‘oh you monster’ – ‘But she’s got an exam.’
    I don’t think I’ll ever completely get the Stockholm Syndrome BS of his family out of his head.

  22. Well, TGP has decamped to live in Brisvegas with Mum for the holidays. He likes the run of the 2-storied mansion, the inground pool, and being taken Op Shopping. Oh, and selecting his meals – he’s a big fan of potatoes cooked in duck fat.

    Gigantor has gone semi-nocturnal to play on-line games with his friend from WA, but is up when I come home from work, so we chat and have dinner together, then I go to bed and he settles in for a night of gaming.

    In summary I’m hanging in by a thread and only the thought of my up-coming 5 days off is enough to keep me vertical.

    Your naps are enviable, Catty – are you doing anything else?

  23. Are you getting 5 days of peace & quiet, or is the family planning to descend upon you for Easter revelry, MM?

  24. No, not really, except for eating CAEK. I’ve been eating a lot of CAEK, thanks to MK’s insistence on baking instead of doing chores or homework. I can’t be cross with the poor girl, she’s doing her best. TGP has the right idea; it’s a pity you can’t join him for pampering and potatoes.

    Q, as the saying goes, ‘You do what you gotta do’. The trick in these cases is to stop doing it when it’s done. Sometimes I forget, although these days I don’t forget anywhere near as often as I used to. You’ll probably find the Bloke remembers to step back more often than he used to, too. It is pretty crass of him to want you to abandon your birthday, though. That’s just wrong. He should be spending the day pampering you! For shame! If I were there, I’d kick him in the shins and nag some remorse into him.

  25. Mmm … CAEK.

    We are being forced to come to Easter for some revelry, but Gigantor (and me, truth be told) refuse to go for more than 24 hrs so it will be a flying visit from Saturday morning until Sunday morning. During which time we’re going to see animatronic dinos at the Museum, so it should be fun.

    • Mmm, dinosaurs.

  26. It does sound like fun! We’ve been spared any festivities (beyond The Gimmee’s birthday dinner, anyway) due to the in-laws heading off for their annual Easter camping trip. The BIL’s have been avoiding us for some time, so there’s no danger of human interaction there, either. I’m planning on spending Sunday on the couch with whatever chocolate I can scam out of my poor, unsuspecting offspring. Maybe I’ll do a little knitting? Hmmm, sounds like a plan. Scam, nom, knit, nap. The perfect Easter!

    • You really should visit us Catty. We have a bit of a chocolate glut at the moment thanks to some idiot who can’t pass a choc shop without ducking in for a quick one.

      (And I was really good and didn’t say “Scam, nom, nit, nap”. Oops)

  27. GB, hearty kudos on the spotty cake. It was spectacular!

    Catty, that sounds ideal and is about what I’ll be doing on the non-dino days.

  28. CHOCOLATE!?!?!! I’ll be there in about five minutes, GB! But seriously, we do have to get together soon. Mayhem promised to organise a March gathering, but I haven’t heard from her for a bit. I shall have to harangue her about it.

    Also, good job on the CAEK. It looked gorgeous! Was PB suitably impressed with grandad?

  29. Oh, it’s been too long since I have smelt the glory of the Melbourne chocolate ateliers. Can I come down in winter, do you think? It would be a good chance to wear my coat.

    • YES, SI, OUI, JA, DA.

  30. Don’t tell me Dr Yes is back, 99! He is? I asked you not to tell me that.

  31. Heeheeeheee…scam nom knit nap. Perfect.
    And yes, it must be a restless time of year – I was just thinking some travels would be fun. Hey, I was reading about the Titanic exhibit – where the hell is that on, Sydney? They allocate tickets according to what the actual passengers were given, so you find out at the end of the tour if you live or die. I’m undecided if I think that’s cool or creepy…might be somewhat in bad taste for the relatives, you’d think. You wouldn’t want to do it at the holocaust museum, would you?

    • I’m a terrible person for chuckling at that, but I don’t think it would be much of a novelty at the Holocaust Museum. Almost every poor bastard would be a dead one.

      • Perhaps they could rework it at the dinosaur exhibit, along with the description of how you die.
        i.e. A. squashed under foot by a plus-sized herbivore or
        B. Smashed into avocado pulp by a T-Rex.

  32. I don’t know if it’s still running, but at one point there was a Titanic theatre restaurant here in Melbourne. Diners were encouraged to wear period clothing. It was on my bucket list, but the Boss isn’t one for theatre restaurants. Or any sort of restaurant. He thinks KFC at home on the couch is far better value. Usually I agree with him, but it is nice to get dressed up and let someone else do the dishes once every year or two.

  33. The Bloke does the dishes every night, Catty, and I never have to dress up in sequins or heels to convince him to do that. Arse-kicking boots are quite adequate for the job, I find.

  34. If it’s still going, I’ll take you Catty. Although the only period clothes I have are baggy pants (boom tish! try the sinking veal).

  35. Here’s a tip for the waitress – put an old towel on the seat.

  36. Heheheh and also yuck

  37. I’d never really considered veal as an alternative to a sanitary napkin.
    Perhaps I need to Get Out more. (See what I did there?)

  38. If it was crumbed, that just might work.

  39. Okay, okay, I’m going. Sheesh, and I haven’t even seen the dessert menu yet.

    • Have a Good Friday everyone. Stay hot but try not to get cross.

  40. Thank you! Also, now I’m hungry. Bring forth the buns!

    • Funny how hot and cross in summer is so annoying, but in buns it’s deficits.

  41. I love your phone.

  42. LOLZ, met too.

    • This phone is funnier than i am these days.

  43. Now now, no need to go overload. Ovenboard. Oberon….

    Technology isn’t anywhere near as advanced as Hollywood promised it would be by now. I was just searching online for the lyrics to Leo Sayer’s song, “The Only Way To Travel Is To Fly”, (because I can’t for the life of me understand what he’s singing in the first verse) but do you think I could find them? No! No I couldn’t. Geez, it’s like being back in the pre-1999 dark ages or something!

    • We know a Sayer. Want me to ask them to ask Leo?

      • Please, please tell me their first name is Sooth.

  44. I’m assuming this is another phone typo and you meant ‘Sayo’ and they’re a bit of a cracker.

  45. Oh, Quokka, you cracker me up!

    • Sooth will be the next hipster baby name, when they get sick of Hunter and Dashiell.

      Jatz wishing you a fabulous Easter, my Criskits Salada!

  46. A Blessed Easter to you all!

  47. Are you trying to butter me up?

  48. Vita Wheat start this?

  49. We’re poorly bread?

  50. That, or we’re a bit dippy.

    • I think I was dropped butter-side down as an infant.

  51. Mmmm… buttery infant…

  52. Beats what they’re usually smeared with.

  53. And their parents… “Beware the Weetbix sneeze!”.

  54. And the dreaded Cheezel fingers.

  55. Not to mention the Easter egg face.

  56. Is that the triple-chin you get from too much Lindt? i have that face.

  57. I have two of them.

    • What happened to all the Easter chocolate? I went to Woolies yesterday thinking I’d clear up and… nothing.

      Don’t tell me this is Nature’s way of telling me to give up chocolate!

  58. Try NQR supermarkets. They have mucho chocolate at low, low prices! I went there for something else, can’t remember what, and came home with enough delightful noms to last me until at least Saturday.

  59. Whatever NQR is, we don’t have it. There’s an IGA in Yandina and one in Peregian, but for some reason when I’m home and the pants are off, both of those feel like a long way away.

  60. I hear you. Even the fridge feels a long way away once my pants are off.

  61. Testify! Someone needs to design a little bar fridge that also functions as an table by the recliner for your remotes and knitting.

  62. Perhaps we could modify one of those robot vacuum cleaners to work as a chocolate waiter.

    • Genius! But they move at random. What if it gave my chocolate to the cats?

  63. I could build one of those but honestly! Fifi had three looong phone calls yesterday and the day before which were a bit stressful. Enter Chocolate Man! I just supply leftover tiny eggs and blocks of extra-dark at regular intervals. She doesn’t even have to take her feet off the ottoman*.

    (*Caution: presenceofcrankyoldgitwhodoessillythingswithtoolsmayalsohavenegativeconsequences. seekadvicebeforeallowingoneoftheseinthehouse)

    • Oh dear. Hugz to Fifi, stressul calls suck bigtime. Does she need a bigger trebuchet, or some fresh dog turds as amunition? The new pup is not near so good a supplier as the previous hound was, but I find plenty to spare littered on our dog walks. We walked around the perimeter of the eco-village at Currumbin yesterday & they only had roo poo & duck poo – I can see the appeal of a gated hippy village that’s free of dog & cat turds. My there’s some lovely hippy/eco-friendly houses in there. If it wasn’t for my love of selected introduced species, we’d be down there like a shot.

  64. Huh. All I have is a Boss who keeps stealing my chips.

  65. Is he a seagull? I hate it when that happens.

    GB, i couldn’t cope with being married to anyone. But if I could, I’m sure marrying a version of you would provide one with moments of bliss, as well as bemusement and the odd annoyance.

    • (proportions may vary)

  66. And brownies. Don’t forget the brownies.

    • Mmm… brownies. Are there any single Cadbury’s?

  67. If you’re going with singles, it’s Lindt balls all the way. I particularly like the salted caramel ones.

  68. Ah’m knackered. Eating chocolate right now just to get the energy to go to bed. I just hope these kids remember how much fun they had when they get older.

    • Did you record it on a flash drive? Because human memory doesn’t really kick in till after 4 or 6. What they will remember is their sense of who you are, Khan GB. And don’t tell Spanner I said so, but Madame is right, your family have a good one.

      • Agreed. They won’t remember the details, but they’ll love you as much as i loved my maternal grandparents. Which was, without end.

      • You guys are the best. And yep, some of it is on video or pics and with any luck I’ll last long enough for proper memories.

  69. GB, I hate to see you struggling alone through your plethora of chocolate, you poor love. If Mayhem doesn’t set a date for a catchup soon, I may have to invite myself over to your place for an hour or two of inane chatting and indiscriminate nomming.

    • Awww thanks Catty. There’s just soo much chocolate here, and coffee and stuff. It would be a kindness to dispose of some of it thoughtfully. We should find a Boss & kid free time?

  70. The innocence of a small boy. https://www.dropbox.com/s/lh6z4rrrshoz6l2/Hamish%20innocent.jpg?dl=0

    • When did he go from baby to little boy? I’d be outraged if he wasn’t still so adorable.

      • His serious “yes pease” and “no sank you” are devastating. Took him for a walk while PB was at kindy and passed a couple of tradies having coffee. He waved and said hello and one offered to high 5 him, which he did enthusiastically. They were grinning from ear to ear. Like Q’s somersaulting pup, makes people smile.

    • That picture totally deserves to become a meme. I’m sorely tempted to caption it.

  71. The Terrible Torment of the old guy. https://www.dropbox.com/s/hba4vhj5281bs2f/PB%20scruffing%20GD.jpg?dl=0

    • You get him, girlfriend.

    • Are you deliberately going for the Pratchett look, or is that just a coincidence?

      • Purely coincidence (may have won a prize for best Pratchett costume at Hogswatch fair)

  72. Now I feel sad about there being no more Discworld novels. Hey, GB, you can write; how about a bit of fanfic?

  73. Yes, please! You could write the story of a gnarled old wizard beset by fiendish pixies.

    Write what you know.

    • (sad face) (also giggles)

  74. A gnarled old wizard who bakes dwarf bread. Mmm… dwarf bread…

    • Are you threatening to grind my bones to make your bread?

      We prefer “short- statured “.

      • Or in my case “fun-sized”.

      • Hehehe. Travel edition.

  75. Good things come in small packages.

  76. With one outstanding exception.

  77. Absolutely. Beds do indeed come in very large packages. I love bed. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

  78. That too.

  79. What, there’s something else?

  80. Testify.
    Doona, cat, cup of tea. Listening to the birds starting up for the day outside.

  81. The birds and the dawn are all well and good, but there’s not enough rain for my liking.

  82. I’d send you some of ours if I could. It’s been pouring all night and the yard looks like a swamp. I’ve told the kidlets not to answer any knocks on the door, because it might be Shrek.

  83. ahahahahaha you velly funny lady.

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