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Moving never ends, and having finally procured a truck to move our fifty dollars of possessions we have determined that:

--We actually own five useful things.

--We can find none of those five useful things.

--The rest is shit no one wants.

--No one will take it.

Tolstoy had the right idea. We'll be back in force tomorrow after burning half of what we own.

Had the right idea, but bad execution.