If there’s one way to really get me to go off like an atom bomb, it’s having my doorbell blown up on a Saturday morning. When you live in the Sothern United States, as I do, this happens rather often. Nine times out of ten, it’s a family of roving Baptists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, or the occasional Mormon, which only makes matters worse. I mean, it’s not as if they’re ever cheerful or fun or anything. They’re always so glum and only come offering something ...
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