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September 26, 2005

Volume 6, Issue 26

There I was, surrounded. NO PLACE TO GO.

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D: Faux Pas

The bastard had boxed me in, but I wasn't prepared to give up yet. I did the only thing I could think of to get me out of that corner; a flying Travolta with Iranian hummingbird pelvic thrusts.

The crowd gasped in awe as I pulled it off flawlessly, my hair rigid, my limbs stretched to breaking point and my enormous flares somehow flapping in slow motion. The disco dance floor lights seemed to bathe me in glorious red, white and blue in time to the beat as I sailed through the air overhead.

And the dance-off was back on.

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Ted: Feeding the Stadium

No way out. Again. I may have to rethink this whole super-hunter lifestyle one of these days. Really, what does it matter that my family has served the Chair for hundreds of years. Sometimes it is just too much to ask. Last time, I only got out by sacrificing a toe. This time, they want a little more. What will it be? An arm, maybe. At least then I could retire. Oh, shit, that was close. Sorry lads, you can't have THAT. I still need to sire another generation don't I? Sometimes it sucks being the damn Chairman's ingredient collector.

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