Something is happening.
If you were to fly as a bird flies from D.C., west over the Appalachian Mountains, up into the clouds, then swoop down and eventually glide right above the grain and its long, almost endless waves — a deep sea of grain.
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If you hang a right at the tip of Lake Michigan, fly straight between Des Moines and Madison, following that storied Mississipp’, you’ll come to a mythical little upside-down called Minneapolis, and in it, liberals are finally learning.
Their lamentations are a symphony!
“I’m disabled!” she cries as federal police rip her from her car. “I’m disabled!” They cut her seat belt and subdue her.
You are? Nobody cares. What are you even doing here if you’re disabled?
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