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My wife ripped the turntable off its shelf and threw it to the floor in a fit of rage one time. She knew I loved that thing possibly more than I loved, well, her. This was back in her days before Prozac. After a trip to the repair shop, the table survived for another 6 years or so, and our marriage has even longer. She's never done anything else like that, and we never talk about it.
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Ever notice how this place just basically, well, sucks.
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