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My dog's called McCartney, a Liverpoodle. Walking the dog down Penny Lane yesterday I saw her standing there. The dog leapt forward so I called his name.
'Get back McCartney' I shouted. 'It's only Eleanor Rigby' who I secretly fancy and she's alright. If only I could have been her man. But she flicked her hair, turned and strode away.
Maybe we could work it out another day.
McCartney meanwhile was pissing on the gleaming wheel of Paul's gold Bentley.
'Dog, don't let me down again' I chided the cowering McCartney, heading for the long and winding road back home.

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