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Hee Hee Hee Haw Haw Haw

(First off who can tell me what movie my title comes from? It's in a song in a movie)

Okay:
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Vicbowin: Is that a debit card or a gift card?

Me: Gift.

Vicbowin: Oh. Gift cards aren't as much fun... because you can only use them once and you can use debit cards over and over again.

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Albowin: Which aisle do you want me to go down.

MC: That one.

Albowin: Which one!?

MC: The first one.

Albowin (frustrated and consequently loud): Do you want me to go down that aisle or the one where the lady with the different color skin is?

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(at Vicbowin's baptism)

Iyawin screaming at the top of his lungs and kicking so hard his socks fly off: I wanna take a baff too!!!!!

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Vicbowin: Jane isn't very nice. She lies a lot. She has a brown face.

Me: What!? That doesn't have anything....

Vicbowin: I know, I know. I know a lot of people with brown faces that are really nice, she just isn't.

Me: (Thinking to myself that the topic of skin color needs to be readdressed.)

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Albowin trying to read: for I.... kuh- now.

Ralexwin: Know.

Albowin again: kuh... kuh... now.

Ralexwin: Know.

Albowin: Ugh! kuh... now

Ralexwin: Know, know.

Me: The word is 'know' honey.

Ralexwin: Oh, yeah, sorry the word is 'know.'

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Vicbowin (after reading us a story): Just a sec I have to go to the bathroom. Reading always makes me need to go to the bathroom.

Melissa: Hmm, that's an interesting urge.

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After wrestling over a chicken nugget that had been dropped on the floor at McDonalds.

Me: Honey, you don't want to eat food off the floor, especially here.

Albowin: Why?

Me: Because it's dirty.

Albowin: But I like dirty food. It tastes good.

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Vicbowin: So if a bank is just a place where you put your money, then how do banks make money?

Explanation ensues

Vicbowin: What! They steal your money!?


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Me: Okay time to go get dressed.

Albowin: But MOOOOM! My legs are hungry.

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Mutterings of a Middle-Aged Dreamer

Use your words, my dear sweet soul, they are inside of you... So find them. Write, you silly girl, write so hard the world will never forget you.
But does it matter if the world remembers you? 
Age begins to press its hands upon your chest and the need to be remembered seems to increase with the pressure. 
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