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Mired in mediocrity, Runni pressed on. With every stroke, the middling dipshit became more and more mundane. No matter how she tried to elaborate her subject, the dipshit remained the same. He was vapid, puerile, and bland. Runni couldn't stop. As her pigments waned she grew even more determined. Finally, and with only the benefit of Snoddy's one pinky toe, she had produced her piece de resistance. A striking portrait of Henry David Thoreau.
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