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Wednesday, 28 June 2006



Oh, Simon. You do the Bard proud.

I am nae poet, in a sense,
But just a rhymer,like, by chance,
An' hae to learning nae pretence,
Yet, what the matter?
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance,
I jingle at her.


And now we can't stop thinking abpout mallomors.


about mallomars. my hands are shaky thinking about mallomars.


They are indeed, Rick, far too goodly for their own good. (The jar is empty at work now and I find myself a prime suspect.)


I think I might be the only one in the world who thinks that those are revolting. The marshmellow makes me gag. WHich means more for you!

Now, bring me some of those "Li'l Boy" chocolate cookies, and watch them disappear!


You are not alone Tasha. I detest them. Maybe without the jam. Something about that jam in the middle just make me cringe.

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