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| Hey, man. What happened to your arm? | |
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| Nothing, except some vicious Earth bitch descended from her curiously atmosphered planet ruled by flaming bipedal warmongers and destroyed me and the rest of my beak-lipped people. | |
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| Yeah, whatever--I asked about your arm, dude. | |
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| Oh, that. Machinal mishap at the factory. I'm union and I'm in the middle of a lawsuit. | |
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| So what's the story, morning glory? | |
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| The paper dress factory I work at claims that by hacking my own arm off viciously with a handheld cleaver I've waived my right to workman's compensation. | |
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