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by Charles Carreon
Charles is a quick brown fox,
jumping over the lazy sunset,
making eyes at the fries,
Treating the Christmas maidens
To ice cream and dried dreams,
While the entertainment magazines
Promote brand-new spastic machines
That run wild in their butler uniforms
All day, then settle down at night
On their patios with cold cans
Of Spaghettios,
And never, ever touch the remote.
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