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Brad Pitt, on his way to Madison Square Garden, encounters an unsavoury hallucination.
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| Yo bitch. Yeh, thats right fool, I'm talkin to you. | |
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Brad confronts the vision.
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| You're a paper clip. This isn't happening. I didn't pay $80 an hour on therapy for this shit again. | |
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| Aye, word up Mr. Pitt. I'm real, I want to eat your soul... | |
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Another success for Hllywood.
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| Christ. Back to Detox again. | |
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| That's right, run film star. Go on, see if your check book can cure you this time! HaHaHaHaHa! | |
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