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I wear different coloured t-shirts according to my mood.
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as a surf life saving consumer hotline.
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I don
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and locate the vegemite and write my name on everyone.
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and heckle at weddings from inside a suitcase.
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and teach him how to knit, and call him Adolf Diggler.
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play Yahtzee in nightclubs, at three in the afternoon.
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via walky talky, while hiding under the bed.
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and put on a slide show of other people
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and printed it out in wingdings, and gave it back to you.
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and dye it purple, and pour it on the lawn.
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then sing my life story to the tune of My Sharona.
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and stand up to poo, at job interviews.
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in the middle of August, and haunt golf courses.
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and knitted it into a beanie, and threw it off a bridge.
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and cut them up into a ransom note and hid it in a thermos.
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and build my own shopping trolley, and only buy one nut.
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and stuffed my clothes with eggplant and pretended it was me.
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in heiroglyphics on my neighbour
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and made a law banning Nuttelex, and then moved to Spain.
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put my shirts in the crisper - they
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dirty tea towels to the Mormons, and pavlova to crabs.
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on a platform of skateboards that
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on the cultural significance of party pies.
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through a megaphone, in sign language.
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on a black & white TV, with the sound down.
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push up against the door, then cry myself to sleep.
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from the perspective of a possum that Jesus patted once.
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soak myself in metho, and tell them that they
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as a reading challenge, and clogged up a waterslide.
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in my undies rolling in sugar, in the carpark of a rodeo.
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and laced a message subliminally telling Shane Porteous to buy a smock