29 Aug

the good’ol “smell my hand” thingy

On a dark, dreary evening, a figure approaches you. His shadow, engendered
by the dim bulb at the far end of the alley, lengthens as he nears. You are
paralyzed. You want to trace your footsteps into one of those numerous by
lanes which end up nowhere, but it’s too late. There is a moment of silence,
when you two are face to face, man to man. The mysterious figure, with a
jerk, stretches its hand out, and exclaims, ‘Dude, smell my hand!’. — Hah!b33t

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