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The Isle of Gummock: A Travel LogThe Isle of Gummock: A Travel Log. The Morning After and the Day Inbetween. I awoke bearing the scars of last night’s revelry. Thanks to the unbridled jubilance of that most peculiar festival, my uvula seems to have taken on the form of a teenage catfish, only able to lazily lift from my tongue and briefly utter a self-pitying moan before it collapses again, exhausted from such exuberant effort so early in the mid to late morning. On exiting the forest via its westerly thigh, my guide, the ever reliable ...
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