The Whip It! banner takes up residence at my place.

All in all, all is well.

When I got home there was an e-mail from Felicia, expressing her thanks for "the opportunity to strain my bladder for 4 hours, singe my leghairs on the hood of the whipped cream mobile, and contract malaria from the bayou mosquitoes in downtown houston." Don't mention it, Felicia. But someone covered in shaving cream has no reason to complain about leg hairs.

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