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I associate every single one of my images with some insanity filed under 'I' in the brain hoard. As kids, the four of us were either locked in the dungeon or left to our own devices. During those hours, we kept ourselves entertained. When it was rainy or cold, my sister and I would bust out a collection of stories we'd memorized for just such an occasion. We'd take turns telling the stories and laugh until we cried trying to make it to the end. One such story was 'Prinderella and the Cince'. I'm sure some out there have heard the story. For others, I will quote a paragraph. That said, when I looked at this image, and if I strained hard enough, I could see Prinderella tigh in the hower, where her sticked wepmother lorced her to five.
Tonce upon a wime there was a gretty little pirl named Prinderella. Prinderella had two sisty uglers and a sticked wepmother, who made her flub the scoors, wean the clindows, pine the shots and shans, and do all the other worty dirk.
Obviously... we were easily amused.
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