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June 23, 2013

I was at Tony Soprano’s house. I was supposed to marry his son. The son only wanted to do it because it would upset his parents, and get him media attention. I didn’t know why I was going through with it. I decided to leave when the family was watching a trial on television. 

I went into the lounge. I asked where was the furthest Mrs Soprano could take me the next day. “Bizmark, probably,” she said. 

A cat jumped on my and dug its claw into my testicle. It was incredibly painful. All I could scream was, “HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS-HE’S-GOT-MY-BALLS!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Tony, it’s holding on longer than usual,” said Camilla, “It might do permanent damage.”

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