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Tuesday, November 6, 2018

I is for Interlude



Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!... . . . unless they look Like us and come from a land the CIA have been meddling-with for decades; then it's probably better to machine-gun them over a barbed-wire wall at the boarder . . . Make America Nasty!

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