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The weekend flies around our heads like a Furby placed on a string by a maniac. "Weee," it says. "Achooo." Taunting us, just out of our grasp. At one point, though, we will catch it. We will catch the weekend in our teeth and destroy it, tearing it to shreds until its voice is silenced and its eyes close. Then we will lie beside it, longing for the moment it dangled so close on a string above our heads, and wait for a new Furby to begin. Amen. (Via Abroath.)
