In the Drink
I'm going ice fishing tomorrow. So if I don't post anything next week, you'll know it's because I'm lying frozen on the bottom of the lake. In the unlikely event of my passing, I expect a series of witty eulogies in the comments section of this entry, including bad poetry containing lines like this:
Behold the lake hath now become a tomb
And lured this moron to his final doom
Oh, and somebody should perform "Ice Ice Baby" at the funeral.
Behold the lake hath now become a tomb
And lured this moron to his final doom
Oh, and somebody should perform "Ice Ice Baby" at the funeral.
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