Whedon Ipsum

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We're gonna explode? I don't wanna explode. How did your brain even learn human speech? I'm just so curious. They've got those hoppy legs and twitchy little noses. Welcome to the future, where cars fly, robots serve our every whim, and genetically engineered dinosaurs rule the Earth. Actually, I was fired from a fry-cook opportunity. It eats you, starting with your bottom. Uh, thermal exhaust port's above the main port, numbnuts.

I suppose there is a sort of Machiavellian ingenuity to your transgression. Say, aren't you leaving a hole in the middle of some soggy group hug? Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes. What gives you the right to suck face with your demon lover again? Oh my god! Did it sing?

You remember, you fail math, you flunk out of school, you end up being the guy at the pizza place that sweeps the floor and says, 'Hey, kids, where's the cool parties this weekend?' He'll be an empty-headed robot wondering around Hollywood; he'll be fine! Either blow us all up or rub soup in our hair. It's a toss-up. The only way some people can find a purpose in life is by becoming obsessed with demons. What gives you the right to suck face with your demon lover again? It's just a long cultural tradition of raging insincerity. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are.

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