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"We’ve all been there—a weight in your lower gut is prohibiting you from
expressing your true freedom on the slopes. A medicine ball crammed in
your intestines, causing you to squeeze cheek in fear of turning those
nice white briefs into a muddy, tie-dye brown. You have to sh*t, and
your only viable alternative is chancing it, which will most likely end
in catastro-feces all over your all-over print, or head for the hills to
squat and thrust your way to browntown greatness."
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