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A giant blob of hair so gross it makes your lunch look like a math test. It might be cursed, or it might just be what the drain coughed up after a long day.
My dog tried to eat it and now he’s asking for a raise.
I found it in my sock drawer. It’s not a sock. It’s a war crime.
My mom says it’s my dad’s hair. I don’t believe her. He’s not that dumb.