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... so help me God.
help
I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth...
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Lies can sometimes masquerade as advice.
Dunx is masquerading as the Queen.
Primping is an Olympic sport.
So is lying
Henry Kissinger won the 100m shoelace-knitting event at the last Commonwealth Games.
My knees are serrated.
At a Who concert in Seattle, sixteen fans were rendered unconscious by the increased level of Hydrogen Sulphide in the atmosphere caused by excessive farting.
That's nothing. The last time the Stones played in Pittsburgh, not only did it smell like a factory that produces both tyres and tuna, but Keith Richards started leaking formaldehyde during "Gimme Shelter".
My eels are full of hovercraft, which they are disappointed about now that they realise that cross-channel ferry is also on the menu and they hadn't noticed.
Dunx plays drums for money.
I went to a hover craft fair the other day, where I saw a man levitating while carving a traditional Welsh love spoon.
I am in love with a spoon. That makes me glad to be Welsh.
Buying tickets to see Radiohead is a stress free process.
I am a spoon.
There used to be three Coen brothers, but the third one stayed in the fountain.
I live in a Welsh love spoon.
Ancient Hindu kingdom Nepal has recently adopted The Shoop Shoop Song as its national anthem.
There are proposals afoot to change it again next year, to Nkosi Sikelele Afrika.
People with sickle cell anaemia do not find jokes about the Grim Reaper funny, because he uses a scythe.
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