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| My good man, why, forsooth, look you so despondant, so sorrowful? | |
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| I just fount out I only have three days to live... I have a terminal brain cloud! | |
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| Slitting your wrists is not the answer, my Dear Fellow! You must confront the malady at it's source! | |
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| My God, You're right... what could I have been thinking? | |
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| Now then... isn't that better? | |
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| Oh... yesh... mush... preddy colorsh... mmmmnbngg... feh! | |
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