So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...
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And when our blue duck goes QUACK , "quack, quack,"
Our black duck quickly quack quacks back.
The quacks Blue quacks, makes her quite a quacker;
But Black is a quicker quacker backer.
I once heard a guy on the radio say that the surest way to get a girl falling for you is to suggest you both go and feed the ducks. Apparently it works every time (it would work with me every time too, except it's always me that suggests it which somehow spoils the moment). So I'd keep an eye on who Henry and Ezra invite to the pond.