TrollpastaBot
Created page with "{{NSFW}} It was cold and foggy. I had just moved to a new mansion with my sickly 22-year-old son. My wife, Barbara, had died of a severe paper cut. Because it is the olden days, we have no cure for such things. Oh Barbara, I do miss beating you (more socially acceptable for me because of when I'm alive, with horses instead of cars etc). Or ''was'' it the olden days?? "Rest well, little Timmy." I said as I kissed my son goodnight. "Try not to die before t' morning. I..."
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