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Morning

The talking jug stopped huffing. Maybe it's because the stove cut slack on the heat. They were quite a couple. The spoon enjoyed this whole scene unfolding in the kitchen. He was lying next to his beloved plate. The plate was dreading when the damn spoon will start pillaging her beloved pancakes. The pancakes were enjoying their honey bath. The table and his chairs hated this whole set up. They came from a mighty Oak deep in the woods. So they refused to talk to anyone. The man of the house meanwhile doused the stove, manhandled the kettle, held her upside down till all her contents drained off. He then sat on the table, kicked aside a chair, grabbed the spoon and devoured the terrified pancakes who dripped honey all over the plate like a wounded beast.  

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