Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether.
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Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.
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Love is like racing across the frozen tundra on a snowmobile which flips over, trapping you underneath. At night, the ice-weasels come.
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Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
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Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra. Suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night the ice weasels come.
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Eagles fly; but weasels aren't sucked into jet engines.
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Eagles may soar, free and proud, but weasels never get sucked into jet engines.
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