BRITS IN BUTTS

 

Guys, something big is happening.

Wait, what is BnB?

Brits N’ Butts is a big ol’ charity livestream event created by a couple of pals of mine by the names of Starrlet and Oddmast. A big group of these cool kids got together and played games for three days straight, and had cameras set up around the house to broadcast the whole thing! Think BIg Brother but… eh, nerdier? Last year they had a crackin’ Christmas livestream over 3 days that raised over £2000 for Great Ormond Street Hospital.

What has this got to do with you, ya big slut?

THIS year, they’re trying to raise £3000 for Four Paws, an animal charity that does great stuff for our non-human pals internationally. To top it all off, this year I’ll be there! Yes! ME! As I write this, I currently sit in Starrs house in rainy ol’ Essex, surrounded by my streaming buddies and a lot of games and cables. I’m ready to rock.

stream icons flattened sizetran

Sounds… good! When, what, where, how?

Well, at 8PM on the 15th of August (that’s tomorrow!) until 8PM on the 18th, we’ll be taking turns playing animal rated games and the like. If you’re kind enough to donate money, you can pick punishments and things for us to do to say thank you, ranging from shots to makeovers and other embarrassing and horrible things that you’ll love to watch. Now, click, bookmark and get all these various BnB related things followed so you won’t miss a thing!

Our Website- http://britsnbutts.com/ – Schedules, donations, bios on each streamer, this is your one stop shop to watch BnB!

Our Twitch- http://www.twitch.tv/britsnbutts – where we’re streaming it all from! Get it liked babes!

Our Twitter- https://twitter.com/britsnbutts – updates, photos and news! Get it followed and you’ll get… my love 

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Short Story! A Boy in the Woods One Day

Hey folks! So, I’m working on a  secret(ish) project that involves a lot of script writing and story work, and I’m hoping I can talk a lot more about it at length very soon. However, I can show you this, which is a short story I’ve been working on that features the main character. I wrote this mainly as a kind of writing exercise and to see if I could create a kind of unhinged, crazy character and really make the reader feel  ‘inside’ his head. Writing it in first person did make me feel slightly disturbed however… Anyway! I didn’t want to push out the boat to far and let you guys kind of read between the lines at what really happened, but we’ll see how well that worked!

Now, as I’ve said before, my spelling and grammar suuuuuucks, so please excuse & call me about on it! But otherwise I hope you enjoy A Boy in the Woods One Day

PS. I also posted this on Reddit here!, so if you see it there, I didn’t rip it off!

When I was young, we would sometimes build sand castles on the beach. Scraped together and built with impatient hands, they were not fancy or beautiful, they sported no towers or fancy houses and gardens for little kings and members of the court. What they were were huge- ugly and industrial, with high walls and deep moats, built around clawed out patches of sand that we would sit inside, trying to resist the encroaching tide. As the water lapped against our walls of rock and sand and driftwood used to build these creations, we would plug up the gaps that formed through gushing streams of salt water, seeing how long we could sit within our dry patch of land before the ocean finally reclaimed it. Soon we’d be left sitting, shivering and sodden in the waters of our dirty flooding castle (now sporting a fashionably large swimming pool on the grounds), looking at the disaster around us, the fall of civilization in grainy, muddy miniature. Leaving the beach (our school clothes were dirty and dinner was at five, plus I had drum practice at 6), I looked over my shoulder, back over our ruins- we’d built a paddling pond full of mucky seawater and wasted time, a shattered lump of rock and sand that would slowly erode over the days like something Percy Bysshe Shelley would be proud of. It was certainly nothing to write at length about.

I thought of these simpler times as I finished burying the eviscerated corpse of Carrie Jamie in the woods near my house. Why did those sand castles stick so clearly in my mind? Maybe there was something pathetic, nostalgic or allegorical about those days that my mind hadn’t yet revealed to me, but was holding in wait for the day I became mature or enlightened enough to understand it. My heart suddenly lurched and my stomach turned over in reply, my balance lost. I leant (or more ungainly, fell) on the upright bloody shovel, doubled over and catching my breath like an old man reliant on a cane. I took some deep breaths, staring at the disturbed ground. I noticed my shoes. The soles were caked in blood.

Perhaps the castles represented something I yearned for in life? A return to a more innocent time perhaps? Certainly stress was becoming a problem in life, exams and money and all that kind of stuff. I felt the weight of the shovel on my shoulder and suddenly realised I was almost home. I threw it away with a twirl, hearing it spin through the air and land high in the rhododendron bushes. I never heard it hit the ground. I looked at the disturbed patch of leaves with some worry. I had always liked the shovel. It had reminded me of old days of moving gravel with my father and working in the garden. I felt a sudden, painful pang of regret for throwing away such a precious memory. As I approached the backdoor of my house, I stepped out of each of my shoes in one smooth motion, leaving them a stride apart, sitting on the unkempt grass behind the old boat engines. Walking barefeet now, I squelched off the grass, crunched across the gravel (carefully) and hopped up the concrete steps, leaving four wet sole patches on the dry concrete from my socks. I removed the wet, black socks and threw them in the bin. Maybe I need to go back to that beach. It’s only down the road, a short walk and hop across the burn. A sudden answer came my way, however: the tell tale spots of rain appearing on the concrete. It would hide the sock marks, at least, but I wouldn’t be going to the beach now.

My parents were sitting at the kitchen table, Mum drinking tea, Dad coffee. As I got closer I realised Mum was also drinking coffee. I looked over at the counter, where the milk still lay out. There were no tea bags left. They said their hellos and asked me something, anything, but I could not look them in the eyes or talk to them since it happened. That was something I think they might have started to notice. You don’t notice some big things like coming in barefoot from outside, but you notice wee things like that. It’s hard to talk normally, friendly or at length after you’ve killed someone and buried their dead body. I think that was the biggest shame because I was always a friendly, talkative guy. I walked through to the corridor and up the stairs towards my room. My feet were cold, but at least dry now. I sobbed for a bit then sat and read my book until I slept. It was the Mars Trilogy, and although I’m more of the type that enjoys sci-fi that focuses on the higher philosophical debates and technology behind the devices and ideas within the stories, I could appreciate the more human focus that the Mars trilogy takes. Certainly not a complaint, and I love the direction the story is taking (I’m on the second book). As I slept, I dreamt about Mars, the characters, that maybe one day I would get there, and then about Carrie, and her naked dead body sitting in the grave digging it’s way out and then finding me, her mouth still full of dirt and her skin still so grey and torn where the bones jutted out so unnaturally and she screamed and screamed but no one could hear her but me. I woke up wailing, sweating and crying and wanting to call for my mother like some newborn bairn but I couldn’t, and she could never help me and never would ever again. One day she had put me down and never picked me up, and one day I stopped being her son and that was that. I sat there, rocking back and forth, no one to blame but myself and praying for death. Fortunately enough though, it was soon 5AM, and I could get out of bed knowing I hadn’t wasted the day sleeping in.

I ran that morning as I had every morning for the past year. I was the fittest I’d ever been that year, full of energy. “A new Man” people had said to me, and I took that compliment, proudly. I was a new man. I had finally grown up, into someone I could respect. It was the best year of my life. It was meant to be. As I ran towards the old Sawmill, I thought I saw someone running up ahead of me, through the haze of rain and occasional overgrown bend of trees and bushes. His pace was very good, consistent but fast. I tried to catch him, to get closer just to see who it was. There was not usually anyone out at this time, especially with the bad weather as of late. Most people were also up north, helping police with the search. Upping my pace, I swerved off just before the mill, taking a different route parallel to the road that was once an access track for the logging yard. The path was overgrown and uneven, but it was shorter distance-wise, and meant I was slowly gaining on the mystery runner. His pace was consistent, but I swear he was slowly gaining speed, whether this was because he noticed me with a competitive regard, or thought I was some crazy murderer (haha!) I couldn’t tell. Willing myself forward, I put on a final burst, my heart pumping, my brain electrified as I jumped, dodged and hopped over potholes and branches, the intersection getting closer and closer. We were level now, and I could see his features flickering through the trees like a Victorian Zoetrope. Short hair, blue T-shirt, shorts and flashy yellow running shoes. His face was still hidden, but I already knew who it was. I was still running, getting ever closer to that intersection, but I could see and feel this person beside me as much as I ever would. It was me. I was watching myself run, sprinting down this road like some ghost car in Colin McRae Rally, watching with fascination as this copy of myself ran before my eyes. I didn’t know what to think, I had run this route a hundred times and never met myself out here. I suddenly realised I was almost at the intersection, the trees were running out and I was going to collide with my doppelganger if I kept this up. This was a bad idea, I had to leave, I had to get out of here and back home, back to my book, my bed. Back the way I came. I tried to turn but I was going too fast, the track too narrow now, there was no going back. I tried to slow, but so did he, trying he must, to keep level with me. My pace slowed but so did his, my steps became erratic but so did his, and as my head turned, tears forming on my face as the trees finally disappeared, so did his.

His face was his, but not my own. Twisted in a sick smile like the one I always wore, laughing and jovial like the kid I was. I was no longer heading for him, he was running to me, his course swerving towards where the two roads converged. Suddenly I saw his face for what it was, not a smile and two eyes but an ugly mess of sand and stone, and rocks and muck and seaweed and shit- it was my sandcastle, ugly curtain walls to keep out the sea, moats of rock and canals gouged into the sand with shells and sticks. Now it was grafted onto my face, moving and sloshing as I ran towards myself, water and muck pouring out of the gaps as the water came pouring in. I screamed and screamed because now I knew what was coming after me- me! The old me, the man and boy and person I killed that night I murdered her, and they were both coming to get me, the sick bloody couple that deserved each other. I felt his hands grab for me, soft and fleshy and matted with sand and blood and suddenly I was alone, weeping and crying and wishing that whoever the monster was inside me had killed me that day and not the lucky bastard who got to get away.

Sunday Night Sketchbook 29/6/14

I’m back!

Hey everyone, this guys on his computer again! These last two months have been bloody fantastic, not least for all the traveling, fun times, marathons, boating, fishing, working, hiking, drinking and general healthy buffoonery I’ve been getting done, but for the fact that it’s given me plenty of time away from the computer and internet to be doodling and drawing in the ol’ sketchbook. Now, this does come with some downsides- more noticeably the fact I have not updated you guys in stuff for weeks! But that changes today! Here’s my collection of drawings from the past few weeks, and rest assured, this is the start of my return! I’ve been planning some blog posts about my travels and what I’ve been up to all this time, as well as some long overdue Youtube series! Anyway, I’m planning a blog update with all my summer plans both so far and in the future but until then- drawings! Enjoy!

Sometimes the beauty of my creations astound me.

Sometimes the beauty of my creations astound me.

Seathbeard. The man, the myth, the beard.

Seathbeard. The man, the myth, the beard.

Where my essays go.

Where my essays go.

Journeys, not destinations! My artwork as part of Kurts Birthday Celebrations!

Journeys, not destinations! My artwork as part of Kurt’s Birthday Celebrations!

"Kurt's Journey, the second part of my journey series for Kurts birthday. You can buy it (and other stuff!) here

Kurt’s Journey, the second part of my journey series for Kurts birthday.  I wrote the quote myself. You can buy it (and other stuff!) here

The Mindcrack Mod Team! They know their stuff.

The Mindcrack Mod Team! They know their stuff.

 

 

Finally, the following Gallery is part of pretty cool thing going around where you pick a colour pallet for people to work with. People send me a mindcracker and a colour to work with. This is the one I was using. I’m super pleased with how the shark turned out. All available here!

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday Night Sketchbook 01/06/14- May bumper edition!

Greeeeetings true believers! I know, what a long time to have gone without posting on my flashy wee blog, but a multitude of events including exams, a marathon and a move home have meant I’ve had little or no time at all for internet duties! Which, honestly is pretty awesome. There’s nothing better than spending time outdoors on my home island, and I had a blast running the marathon so I’m certainly going to make the drive to do more outdoorsy stuff (in fact, keep an eye out here for some updates and what not)! Anyway, let’s get to the artwork! Again, not exactly a months worth of work, but plenty to keep you entertained. Hopefully I’ll be getting back on the drawing horse ASAP (or once the weather gets worse!)

Anyway, enjoy!

gotem

The following 4 .gifs are some little silly adventurer YouTube Aureylian got up to as she joined the Mindcrack server. See the tumblr post here!

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“If” an animated piece I did about our favourite Youtuber Zisteau. See the reddit thread & context here!

superhostile

A high quality, coloured version of my Zisteau “If” artwork.

millie

I both cannot, and do not want to explain this. I think it’s a mule.

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/r/mindcrack summed up.

brits n butts

COMING SOON ;)

Sunday Night Sketchbook 04/05/14

HEY BABES welcome back to the Sunday Night Sketchbook! Another pretty big week of sketching and drawing, including the finished version of a piece I’ve been working on for some time! So we’ll cut to the chase and get into the drawings- enjoy!

The new minecraft snapshot introduces some amazing new features! And they require slimes. A lot.

The new minecraft snapshot introduces some amazing new features! And they require slimes. A lot.

bratz

I love the Videogamer Podcast, and I doodled some of their shenanigans.

Sexting before facebook

Sexting before facebook

"The Lucky Potato Food Truck has seen better days..." My new work required a hell of a lot of colouring but I was pretty pleased with it!

The Lucky Potato Food Truck has seen better days…” My new work required a hell of a lot of colouring but I was pretty pleased with it!

(and without colour!)

(and without colour!)

I don't have context. Just phones.

I don’t have context. Just phones.

 

A retouched version of a drawing I did for a livestream! Pretty pleased with it overall!

A retouched version of a drawing I did for a livestream weeks ago! Pretty pleased with it overall, I think i finally improved the shadows.

 

I’m Writing a Story!

Well, trying at least. Look, grammar and spelling are my two pet hates in the world- I try to get things down on paper so fast with my imagination racing at a mile a minute that it leaves ample time to see if everything actually reads well. But I love writing, and I’ve always loved writing stories, scripts, poems or whatever takes my fancy. I’ve been working on a new idea for quite some time now, spending a lot of time both planning it (something I’m also notoriously bad at) and creating the world and setting that has both continuity and life outside of the story.

Pictured: Planning. Or Alternatively; evidence of an insane man.

Pictured: Planning. Or Alternatively; evidence of an insane man.

 

So, what I figure is posting the first part of my story here, as well as the rest of the story as I write it. It’s only a first draft, but I figure I’ll update it as I go on my blog so that I can keep track of it better myself. Since the story is presented a bit like a diary, I figure it works on the blog quite well. I don’t want to let on anything about the wider plot, but what I’m presenting is essentially the character of Jamie, his journey and an accompanying history of an Island. Give me feedback! I want to know what I’m doing wrong!

 

Chapter 1

 

Esther’s Isle is a 55 tonne, 18 meter fishing boat. Of wooden construction, she was built in 1951 and was originally called The Emerald Isle. She was swamped of the coast of Eriskay during hurricane like conditions in January 1968 with the loss of her entire crew, and was found on the rocks of Garbh Sgeir three weeks later. She was repaired, re-engined and rechristened The Stornoway Maid and operated as a fishing boat out of Lewis for several decades. In 1971, she was rented along with several other vessels by the Scottish government to transport the inhabitants and of the island and their possessions to the mainland. She was later bought by a group of islanders for the use of ferrying goods and people to and from the island as the last of the inhabitants left. She has made fewer and fewer trips over the years, the last being in 2003 where she was hired by William Coogan for his famous and tragically ill-fated trip. She is usually beached in Port Nis Harbour, Port of Ness.

- Porter, J, A History of Brackenisle (2014)

           

26/03/2010

It was the snapping he couldn’t handle. There were numerous sounds the ancient fishing boat made as it lumbered through each wave and surge, it seemed the Atlantic was desperate to reclaim this vessel for a second time, battering at the hull with roars and creaks and thuds. Despite this, the old boat pushed forward, the hateful winds swirling around her from waterline to mast. Each crash and crunch she made was uniquely unnerving and ominous-

snap!

But that snapping! What was that? It can’t be wood, he thought through the haze in his brain. If the wood was snapping around us we’d have sunk long ago. No, the snapping was something else. He forced open his eyes, his vision swimming around in front of him. From his bedridden position, the cabin was horizontal, periodically lurching as the boat rose into some kind of horrible weightless freefall before hitting the waves again.

snap!

He couldn’t keep his curiosity in check any longer. He had to get up and find out what that was. He slid off his raised bunk, but his pathetic jump to the deck unfortunately coincided with one of the ship’s falls from the crest of yet another wave and Jamie crumpled to the deck, his legs giving out, his stomach being pulled in 2 different directions. He lay there for a few minutes, regaining his strength, his eyes forced shut. His mouth was dry and disgusting, his head was swimming. His ears felt blocked, as if he’d been swimming and had water trapped in them.

snap!

Jamie didn’t get seasick. He was proud of that, very proud. When he was a child, he remembered being the only one in his class unaffected by travel sickness, one of the few who saw the roundabout as fun, rather than some kind of torture device for people who had just eaten lunch. Jamie had nott taken up a life at sea like his father and grandfathers before him, but he had their sea legs, and he liked that.

snap!

He pulled himself up and lay against the cold, curved bulkhead. He flopped his head to the left, quick check to see if he’d thrown up in his bunk. He hadn’t. He flopped his head to the right, the cool paint of the bulkhead comforting him. Jamie didn’t get seasick, but he certainly couldn’t hold his drink.

snap!

That was one skill he pretended he had. Fooled himself into thinking, but he was the only person convinced by his lie he realised now. The bottle of Famous Grouse he had brought and shared last night were probably having a much easier time in the stomachs of the crew. He had at least slunk out of the galley before they noticed how drunk he was getting, or at least he hoped. Spying his phone beside one of his boots and feebly fumbled at any of the buttons on the keypad. The boat lurched in an entirely new and horrible direction.

snap!

5:07. He’d slept about five hours. He pulled the boot over to him, grabbing the lace and dragging it closer, and limply pulled it over his sock. He noticed the other Doc Martin was still, thankfully, attached to his foot. Filled with resolve, the resolve to at least appear sober and figure out what was making the noises outside, he stood up. The ship did a small bounce, a crack as the keel hit the wave trough as if it was solid ground. Jamie threw up.

 

Sunday Night Sketchbook 27/04/14

Buckle up Bagginses! We have a Sketchbook so bursting full of drawings, I literally do no know how to format it! I’ve been making a series of Tumblr posts in which I answer questions submitted by the lovely folks over there. The questions have been silly answers full of gifs and other nonsense, and you can see parts one, two, three and four in their original glory here! Either way, let’s get to it- enjoy!

Why is BTC called Jarool?

Anonymous asks:

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Well Mr Mous,

Years ago There was a guy called BTC

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He was pretty cool and loved to pet minecraft and play cats (or maybe the other way around). One day though, this guy called etho came along

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Etho wanted a fight, because you know, Canadians and all, and started taunting BTC

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Problem is, BTC hearing his name so much made him mad. Real mad. He’s usually cool as a cucumber this guy, but hearing his name that much made himmad

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bad

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AND RAD!

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BTC punched Etho so hard he broke the speed limit. His face was so broken, it fell off when he tried to blink. Etho lost every bone in his body, and the pen in his shirt pocket got broken TWICE. His nipples flew off in 6 different directions. Some say they’re still flying.

After Etho got back from hospital, it was decided this couldn’t happen again

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It was ruled BTC could no longer use his name, and it must be changed to Jarool, after the first president of the United States (John Henry Jarool).

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Ever since, there remains an uneasy friendship between everyone. But everyone knows never to stir the beast, lest this terrible tragedy happen again.

Hope that answers your question Mr Mous!

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What happened to Beef’s Legs?

b7o7u7n7c7y asks,

 

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Well that’s just a top notch question there  BeeSevenOhSevenYouSevenEnSevenSeaSeven, what happened to villagebeef’s legs? At first, I figured Booff’s legs would be where you find most other legs- right between the nozzberry and babble bones!

 

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However on closer inspection, it seem’s VantageBaf is missing his champion hams. There are several varying ideas as to what happened, from human error:

 

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… natural causes…

 

 

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and even seemingly safe activities

 

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However it’s hard to tell which of these is true and not some lie perpetrated by /r/mindcrack or The Illuminati. What we do know is that berf uses the detachment of his legs to great effect:

 

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I hope this answers your question sufficiently enug so you don’t loose too much sleep BeeSevenOhSevenYouSevenEnSevenSeaSeven!

and as vontagburf always says: “Stay frosty, and mind deez chuckies”

 

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Where did Pyro get his Dinosaur Costume From?

Mr/Mrs/Tyrannosaurus Mousy asks:

 

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Well [mind]crack me open and call me an easter egg, that’s a good question guy/girl/dinosaur! All these years of knowing Pooper, I never stopped to think: where did Piryi get his costume?!

To answer this, first we have to ask: what makes Psy-Ops’s costume?

 

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As you can see: Pypee’s suit is a technological, high tech marvel. This is clearly demonstrated during Poi’s day job as a thigh slappin’ gob crackin’ superhero:

 

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Also, Pap’s suit is not just for looks- it serves as a handy remote-control servant and friend (and lover…?) when the time calls!

 

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But I hear you cry- WHERE? HOW? Why was Pepper blessed with such a suit? Well, it’s a dark tale. One that would shock you to your very core.

 

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that would leave you wondering how you can ever look at him in the same way again…

 

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And may make you ask yourself: wtf otp no mre bbz 

 

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HOW POOPER?! HOW DID YOU GET THE SUIT?! ANSWER US

 

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I don’t know if I can ever look at Papa-Pie the same way again.

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Hope that answers your question Anonymousus-Rex! You can ask me more questions (about anything you like!) here.

kindest Regards,

-Zip

What happened to Etho’s flowers?

A plant asks:

 

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Uh huh I see what you’re asking there Mrs/Mr Vegetable and it’s a good questions: what happened to Peetho’s flowers? One minute he’s green fingers, next here’s sitting in a greenhouse full of only regrets and the warm heat of missed fauna.

To get to the bottom of this, I sends a letter to the sexy beasts at the Canadian Embassy:

 

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and I got this reply:

“Dear LitZippo, The story of Ethrow’s flowers is a very important moment in Canadian history, so we decided to commemorate it in a series of crappy gifs. Enjoy mr Zappo.

 

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I hope that answers your question Large Sunflower who learned to type, and remember to spay and neuter your pets.