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The Momster actually used to stick a bunch of cloves in spam and bake the stuff as if it was real food. Alas for her, neither my Dad nor I were fooled for a second. My Dad would whisper to me, "I'd rather eat c-rations". We would both go into uncontrollable fits of laughter until the Momster goose stepped out of the kitchen and commanded silence among the ranks. You folks who had two American parents don't know how lucky you were. At least I had one, even if I had to eat baked spam.
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