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I submit for revision of the last line...
perhaps it should be, "I'M A MAGNIFICENT BASTARD, YOU DELICIOUS BASS"
ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKING GINGER ALE ALREADY
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My dream is a Rocket made of Ginger Ale cans.
I was going to write a story around it called 'five wheels of death.' It would be about two slashers-one in a wheelchair and one on a unicycle-who try to save the world from some kind of Baron. In the end they escape on a giant rocket made of ginger ale.
A can of Ginger Ale frightened me earlier. I can't remember how, though.