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I looked at the passport, and then back up at the woman standing in front of me.
“Are you serious?” I asked, a puzzled look on my face.
She looked sad.
“What is to be funny?” she said, her broken English somehow endearing.
“I don’t know how they do things in…” I turned her passport over, and looked at the country name listed. It took up three lines, and many of the letters just looked like squiggles to me. “…your home country, but over here we do things differently.”
“Is me!” she smiled, and I felt my tough exterior melting slightly. “Is me, is true! I swear it to be!”
“Excuse me, sir.” Turning to the man behind her, I borrowed his passport to use as an example. “You see, your typical passport will have a photo like this in it. Yours…well for one, it looks hand-drawn.”
“Yes, yes!” she cried excitedly. “Is hand-drawn by Duke of Yoggolomoniantia! He best drawn hand in world. Passport is good, yes?”
“Listen, I’m afraid that I can’t let you in. Not with this…I mean, for heaven’s sake, one of your tit is showing!”
“Is good tit!” she said, and started to remove her top to show me. “Is best tit in all of Hagroniantominialopskell! You like?”
I stared at her tit briefly, and then looked down at the passport.
“Oh,” I said. “I suppose it is you.”
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