I would so buy a house from someone named after my favorite snack food.
The mice are starting to make ridiculous demands like entitled brats.
Keep it on Facebook, kids!
From the looks of things, this place has been on the market as long as Rip Van Winkle lazed around growing a nap-beard.
Man if I were a cat I'd be stoked to rent a pile of scrap wood!
The flaming bag of poo on the doorstep means "you're welcome."
So you want me to take your little deck far away? Is that what this means?
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