When you've diligently built up a mortifyingly big box of boxes (a "box box") just like your mother taught you, over many years, and Christmas comes along, and you still can't find a box the right size for that gift you wanna wrap.

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When you've diligently built up a mortifyingly big box of boxes (a "box box") just like your mother taught you, over many years, and Christmas comes along, and you still can't find a box the right size for that gift you wanna wrap.
I made a story on that google thing with authors
Mary Ann Short was always into the strange and unbelievable. As a creature of depreciating innocence she would go down to the lake behind he house and look for mermaids. Physically, she never discovered any, but she always imagined that she did. Her mom never really cared what Marry Ann did, but her father always went on short adventures with her. One of these involved going to a cave under a waterfall a few cities o'er from the island they lived on. It was called Swan Enchanted far-off isle to Mary Ann, however, to the rest it was just Swan Island. The terrain was rocky and had few trees and bushes. Mary Ann wasnt pleased with how small her little island was. This was her whole holy globe, ever since she was 15 she never left Swan Island. She intensely desired to travel.She wanted to go to Loch Ness and Stone Henge. But the only dark unfathomed space she could go to was off the coast of Maine. "Mary Ann's foolish dreams weren't exactly praised when she got into adulthood". Making up false realities was considered a delusion. She was resolutely delivered straight in to a mental institution. THE END
Edgar Allen Poe made me end it there right when I was in the middle of a sentence.
Ass holes spinning up the fucking road in front of my house at damn 2:30 in the morning. Is it okay to go throw some nails in the road?
Boxes and Boxes - Le Rev