Where Dumtree's grow

Once when I was 9 years old, I visited a Dumtree grove. On some were thorns and some held thistles. Some wore balls and bells and whistles. I chose one that had bright lights, the type that light your way at night. The lumberjack, who’s name was Mack, did hack on back with his wide ax. My Dumtree fell with a great big crash and I smirked out loud with a great big laugh.

“At last!” I gasped, as I lugged my prize, over hill and dale, past Russian spies. “The tree I’ve wanted since half past three, belongs to no one else, just me!” But then as if on ruin cue, a grizzly bear did come to do, the evil that all grizzly’s do, which is to tree nab, and bid adieu. “Hark hark!” harkened I to my grizzly thief, “That tree is mine, now have at thee!”. So I charged with both fists clenched in rage and pummeled that bear right off this page! I grabbed the tree to make my break, but noticed something that made me shake. The tree was fake, for pasted on was a label reading “Made in Taiwan.”

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