It's funny how you spend your whole damn day trying to register for the Post's online edition — after all, you don't put this much effort into far more significant activities, like toilet training your cat. Nevertheless, the Post is your kitty litter of choice, and you'll be damned if your shitbox isn't lined just how you like it!

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At 4 PM yesterday, we finally received our registration confirmation (and free ringtone, thankyoubabyjesus). We slept soundly at night, knowing that we'd be able to spend our early morning hours reading about 32-year-old single women in the south who must be gay. Life would go back to normal and world hunger would finally come to an end.

But oh, nonono. Not so fast, suckers.

You think the Post is going to let you actually READ their hot copy?

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And we thought we'd never call anyone in newspapers a cocktease.