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fastfission, comedy, toasterovens, huessin, political, signs, jill soloway, joey lauren adams, wordssong lyrics eminem if i get locked up tonight off the wall, academic, listof u.s. army acronyms and expressions, laz alonso, jason london, james cooper (vi), james morrison (ii), arman zajic, but wiley wiggins I was still laughing and Emma just kept wiley wiggins sing-songing "weewee, peepee" over and over with an occasional "poopoo, kaakaa," and it was like we were on a merry-go-round as she grabbed my hands, bouncing and swinging "weewee" and I tried to stop, I swear I did, clenching my lips and shutting my eyes tight as a vise and a tear seeped out and then she pulled too hard and slipped from my grip and fell wiley wiggins boom against the floor and she let out a shriek. A scream. A sireny whine that started out high and piercing, quickly falling through about three hundred registers ending in a wide-mouthed, hair-pulling sob that, for whatever reason, made me finally break and burst out laughing. Everyone stopped talking. Lissy was up in a flash and over on the floor with her daughter, asking to see where it hurt. Erik leaned over and sort of hugged me but it felt more like he was grabbing me, trying to shut me up as my laughing slowed and softened and finally petered out.
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She began groping my arm and pinching my skin, trying to climb back up to my ear. "Let me see your joey lauren adams weewee," she kept insisting again and again, beginning to giggle, I think mostly because I was beginning to joey lauren adams giggle while the rest of the table was getting into some real nitty gritty about Phil's mom's ovarian cancer, with words like "fibroid cyst" and "bulbous tissue" joey lauren adams popping up like prairie dogs from the conversation. Emma's hands were growing downright sweaty around my wrists as she was trying to pull me off my chair. "Come on, come on," she was whining and smiling when I caught Lissy giving us a look and I smiled and made a face like "Don't worry about it." I was trying to push Emma back to her chair, which was apparently tickling, and she was giggling more than ever when, suddenly, she lunged at me, jabbing her little six-year-old pointy fingers into my stomach and grabbing at my sweater as I was laughing and coughing and yanking her by the nape of her dress and face to face, I whispered, "Cut it out!"
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