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I'm back from my week of solitude and reflection. The first thing I did upon entering the house was to charge downstairs, drop trou, and shoot out a massive turd that had been battering at my asshole for release: it began as a proud, solid tube of Metamucil-infused shite but ended, sadly, as a scattershot blat of alternately weak and powerful diarrhea. I'm still feeling some aftershocks from the event, so it's possible I may have to rush off to the toilet agai--


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