LIMERICKS AND STUFF By Leigh Collin Brandt
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Friday, January 16, 2026
I DIED LICKING MY FINGERS
I go out to the old, bright, red barn, and I find a dead chicken,
The dead chicken is bloated, half rotted, I eat him, I sicken,
I take a big chance,
On my grave ya'll dance,
The chicken might have been spoiled, but it was still finger lickin'.
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