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That solves the problem of the creamed chipped beef.

Ten minutes pass, and you open the door, slowly. The plate of creamed chipped beef is empty, evidently licked clean. The bellboy remains seated, playing absent-mindedly with the thick hair on one of his forearms. "I thought you'd never come out," he yips. "Got anything else special in that attaché case?"


Written by Joey Liverwurst

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