funeral for a fiend

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The Pittsburgh experiment, declared a failure long ago, finally breathed its last on Monday. As the new owner led me out the front door, I gave the house two stabbing middle fingers behind my back. The owner turned around suddenly.

"I really like these doors!" he chirped.

Oh, me too, buddy. I've never liked them more than I do at this moment. Enjoy the bottle of Everclear I left you in the bar. You'll find that alcoholism helps.