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Dot...Dot...Dawg (8/27)

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It's time.
It's time.

Folks in 'dese parts remember what a real storm was like. Ya' listenin' boy? Ya' wake up and ya' smell it. Like steamy manure burnin' your lungs. There's crackles in the air and then it starts coming at ya'. Wind starts swirlin', pickin' up hay, turds and whatever ya' neighbors left lyin' aroun'. Dots are flyin' everywhere. You look out the window, because that's how stupid ya are, and ol' Bessie is shootin' through the air like she blasted out a circus cannon or sumfin'. Dis is gonna be one a dem.