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In an apt search to find a blessed Easter res-erection, and, with any luck a second coming, our famous cousin BO went down the road to the nearest cash-and-carry pharmacy and bought a bucket of extra strenght Viagra—a blue cure. He hasn’t heard yet about the earthy refreshments of hugging trees, or retiring to a common outhouse for a spine-shattering confession. He has registered a complaint: “All this worry about the loss of advertisers, who’s anywhere who will help me count my massive loss of brain cells—and you cretins just think it’s an advanced case of terminal dandruff.”

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