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I have a sick little post-apocalyptic fantasy involving Gordon Ramsey.
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| Please let me in your shelter! I missed my flight back to England. I'll die out here! I'll do anything! | |
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| Anything? Alright then, Mr. high and mighty celebrity chef. Welcome to my world. | |
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| No, I won't do it! You can't make me! No fucking way you're ever going to put that in my mouth! | |
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| Do it , Ramsey. Open your mouth and think about your happy place. | |
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| What in the bloody hell was that monstrosity? | |
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| I call 'em Moturd Sliders! They're Spam and dill pickle slices on saltine crackers. | |
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