I go away for a week and come home to a BP mailbox filled with poetry,
questions of daughters' alliances with their fathers, memories of
outstanding teachers, stories of extreme sadness and pending death,
unbelievable assaults perpetrated by priests followed by a too-believable
response by our men in blue, discussions of BP clothing styles and the
childhood legacy of snipe-hunting, not to mention the usually witty prattle.

bam.





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uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
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