Group Banter Race to a million

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This now looks like you are fisting a small Storm đź‘€
 
With jet-black hair and button eyes,
She winks beneath the stage’s skies,
A curve or two in plush display,
She makes the crowd look twice her way.


Her felted smile, her stitched delight,
Has wooed both left hands and the right,
A sultry sway, a coy little “ooh,”
The kind of puppet who knows what to do.


Though made of cloth, she’s quite the tease,
With every flick, she aims to please,
A star of velvet, foam, and jest,
The bustiest puppet in the west.
 

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