I've been lifting cement figurines since I was 8 years old. They are always packed in straw and I have to unpack them in hot, sticky, Ohio heat, which makes the straw pack onto you. Then I have to load the stuff into the back of Lincoln Towncars which defy logic with a trunk that actually sits lower than the rest of the car, straining every muscle in your back. Oh, and the cement dries your hands out like a mummy, your fingers constantly get smashed, the cement chips if you look at it funny, and suicidal cement bunnies love to crash onto your feet. To top it all off, my great grandfather died from lifting a cement rooster. Not even joking.
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I've been lifting cement figurines since I was 8 years old. They are always packed in straw and I have to unpack them in hot, sticky, Ohio heat, which makes the straw pack onto you. Then I have to load the stuff into the back of Lincoln Towncars which defy logic with a trunk that actually sits lower than the rest of the car, straining every muscle in your back. Oh, and the cement dries your hands out like a mummy, your fingers constantly get smashed, the cement chips if you look at it funny, and suicidal cement bunnies love to crash onto your feet. To top it all off, my great grandfather died from lifting a cement rooster. Not even joking.
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