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Neal Durando
295 followers -
Applied Linguist, the Generals' Generalist, Journeyman Cartographer, Observant Gentleman
Applied Linguist, the Generals' Generalist, Journeyman Cartographer, Observant Gentleman

295 followers
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Kind of square, and overly lifestyle-y but it plays just fine. Real music. Competent harmony. Dude, I'm there.

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I just checked my "Remember the Maine!" news alerts and found this one slipped by. Ten days late, so the bodies are very cold. There was absolutely no mention of this on the teevee news. Body count not high enough, I guess. But I suppose the scraps of the Maine rest just a little bit softer, what for the blood sacrifice.

I predict a moderately stabby summer with occasional blood filling the gutters, with a heavy front of Navaho Codetalkers rolling in from the south east.


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Holy cow!

They found that this huge supply of megakaryocytes is actually producing more than 10 million platelets per hour in the lungs of mice, which means at least half of the body's total platelet production is occurring in the lungs.

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Here's another one that Pitchfork can't even -- If there's a way forward from the dismal downloadable autotune swamp, you ain't going nowhere without brass in pocket, kid.


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Another reason why all our kids' music sucks. Bad ass three-piece punk rock set up here, wide on the rug and not crowding each other, knocking it out like there was no yesterday, and smiling like tomorrow is under control.

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Aw sheeet. I could tell some stories about stuff that was set to this. But you were there, I'll warrant. Everyone was. You know all the names and Lisa's, too. And, as someone else said, all our secrets are the same. So we'll just let this stand like a profound totem pole, solid with teenage significance and deep echo.

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"Shh, shh. What's that? I think I heard someone cannonball in the pool. No don't turn the light on. Turn down the Jay Z. Oh holy --. That's Nineteen Seventy-Seven. The shitlord. He jumped the fence, so he knows it's not his pool. What? No go ahead and answer it, I'll keep an eye on -- ah, jeez I just saw his junk. ... What's that you say? The call is coming from inside the house! "

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"Nineteen seventy-four called from across the alley. He wants you to turn your music down. That's right, he says. A little more. No, no "three" ain't gonna cut it. Now he says just go ahead and turn it the f*ck off. Jesus. He's threatening to get up and come over. I think we better cheese it."

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I realize Thee Headcoatees are the rightful heirs of ur-shitlords The Snobs.
The insolent pup/went for a walk around town. Yeah.
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