When I was young, my dad would flour me, roll me, knead me, shape me, heat me in the oven under the couch, butter me, and gnaw on me through peals of my laughter until I begged him to make me into bread all over again. Life ... cycles.
When I was young, my dad would flour me, roll me, knead me, shape me, heat me in the oven under the couch, butter me, and gnaw on me through peals of my laughter until I begged him to make me into bread all over again. Life ... cycles.
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