Truth, injustice, and the American chocolate bar, in this week’s dubious tabloids

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Truth in the tabloids is like the weather in New England: constantly changing and rarely to be trusted.


Peter Sheridan apparently impregnated a raccoon in the alley behind my house and now keeps trying to hand my kids “celebratory cigars” (AA batteries with ‘I MADE WEE PETE’ scrawled on them) over the fence. If anyone knows him and could come get him in a very pronto fashion I’d really appreciate it, thanks

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