Thank goodness for the benighted legions of lower-class families that surround me.
If it were not for them in general, and my cerebrally-challenged next-door neighbour in particular, I would not have such a robust system for making my Ben Sherman shirts smell like incinerated cow shit whenever I wash them and hang them outside to dry on sunny afternoons.
(Thank goodness also for my invisible radiation gun that has a pronounced and deleterious effect on cherished male body parts.)
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