Dang, I'm sorry. I couldn't hold it another fifteen blocks. Walking down 48th off Holgate a shit-time bomb was set in my ass. The darkest place to take care of this urgent matter was unfortunately under your tree, in your yard. I'm sure my soft serve surprise was nothing a hose and a grimace couldn't handle. That's your problem. Here's mine: The only thing I had to wipe with was my favorite Iron Maiden shirt. I'm sure it's long gone but if by some chance you are a fan enough to have salvaged shit-faced Eddie from the "dump" just hang it on the tree. I'll check every night, and if I see it, I will leave a crisp twenty in it's place. Kinda like the tooth fairy.
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