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Agence France Press does not know the basics of ballistic



I knew it. I knew it right on Friday afternoon. I could feel it in my bones.

But of course, too late to engage any significant counter-measure.

I'm badly hurt by a serious flu bug that turned me into a wailing mobile mucus manufacture tormented by the grotesque visions of a mind thoroughly left to the mere influence of a debilitating fever.
Let me tell you something: if, one way or another, these visions are representative of the condition of my psyche, I'm going to need some serious help once I'm finished with the flu.

However, despite a horrible week-end writhing under the tribulations of the viscid phlegm, I drew from within the very depth of my strength and willpower enough energy to complete the red button herein (below, if you happen to read the permalink), started last week, just in time to wish you all a Merry Christmas.

My duty accomplished, I'm falling back in my armchair, not knowing if I'll have enough fortitude left to drag this poor old self of mine back to my humble flea bag of pestilence.

Mark my words though: the first ungrateful brat to complain about this goddamn stinking piece of a red button will receive the aforementioned mobile manufacture's daily production carefully concealed in a Whizzo chocolate company box.

And now, I just want to die alone in my slippery secretions.

Again, Merry Christmas to you.
(Post-import fix needed)

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Today October 24, 2016

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