The dawn stirred and so did MacGyver. His mullet gleamed in the soft light of dawn and he knew it.

“They say the morning is for birds and worms,” he said out loud, feeling for his trusty paperclip.

The cold winter air made his words look serious, like little clouds of gravitas. As he did karate out of the bed, his hand hit a suspicious wetness. MacGyver visibly stifled a gasp, clenching his

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