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Orangeville is a lovely place if you happen to be a bedridden deaf mute. Their streets are the sole preserve of troglodytes whose regards for subtlety and variation is comparable to a pigs passion for the slaughterhouse, their homes are the homely equivalent of a prolonged bowl movement followed by an unexpected absence of toilet paper. Incase I havenât made myself clear: I thought I'd be in Hollywood by now.
Orangeville, Ontario is full of the fruitless