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The Moose

I waked up, tied up to a chair, in front a moose. It was a mean moose, if I moved, it would bite my fingers off. If I coughed, it would indulge on my neck. If I speaked, it would chow down on my vocal cords. And so, I’ll die, because of a moose, Dripping blood filled rabies out of his mouth, with the skin torn off of the moose’s until you can see his bone. And so, I’ll die, good night!

(Sent in by Kevin)

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