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Anyway it had been raining and the yard was a muddy mess. I can't remember who threw the pass, but it was a near perfect spiral headed straight into the arms of you guessed it: Target. I had a good ten yards to build up speed as I lowered my head and poured it on, straight for Target's unprotected internet anger back. I was internet anger the biggest bastard on the block at that time (until Littlejoe hit puberty), I was probably pushing 180lbs. internet anger Target? Maybe 135. I nailed that asshole like a runaway train. When my right shoulder hit the small of his back, instead of grabbing and dragging him down like you should for a good tackle, as he started to bend backwards over me, I thrusted up with my legs, lifting him clear off the ground. You could hear every single vertebrae in his spine pop as his body whipped into a backwards arc. He must have had at least five feet of air before his tortured spine whipped forward like a leaf spring, with his face making first contact with the muddy ground.
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