With great effort, uncle Joe cautiously lifted his 305 pound frame from the old tweed-tufted armchair at the head of the oak table in the chandeliered dining room, emitting a short gravelly bark; “Well, I guess I had more than my fair share of that Christmas goose. I’m stuffed,” this last ejaculation sounding more like a question. Other sighs were heard round what remained of grandma Millie’s table setting. All present seemed in general agreement that they had consumed themselves full to bursting.
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