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| - Choosing between ice cream and French fries reminds me of the time I was forced to choose which one of my children would die. Thank you, Sweetie Fry, for inflicting your tasty horrors upon my mouth.
Over and ou-- Hmm? Oh, shit, I meant "dye." Like, dye their hair. Sorry, sorry. It's these goddamned homophones, y'know? Ugh, I swear they are the wurst. But, no, I meant the time when it was Halloween and my son Ronny wanted to go as Selena Gomez, and his brother Donny, bless his heart, wanted to go as Demi Lovato, and of course the both of them are as blonde as their father is. That was back when Frank had just gotten laid off and we only had enough money to allow one of the boys to get their hair dyed for their costume. Boy, did Donny have a fit. That's right about the time when he stopped loving us. Started sassing back all the time. Frank and I cried so hard when we decided to have him killed in that staged carjacking. Really, it was one of the hardest decisions we ever had to make. Almost as hard as the choice between the gourmet ice cream and divine French fries available at Sweetie Fry. Thank God they're open til 1 am on Saturdays; that kind of convenience really affords me plenty of time to make a well informed decision.
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