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The Martian
by
Bo Burnham
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One of them Martians came round the house last night. Talking in code or some sh*t. Weird f**king things they are. He rambled for a good ten minutes. Didn’t listen. Kept staring at his brain through that tacky glass head of his. I could see his thoughts form. I could see them scramble around like ants on hot pavement. Dumb and flightless, that’s what they are. He eventually left. Haven’t thought of him since.
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