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Remember when you could just throw a girl in a volcano? I was actually at Woodstock. That was a weird gig. I fed off a flower person, and then I spent the next six hours watching my hand move. Welcome to the nancy tribe. Easy as really difficult pie. Hey, no, we'll just set course for Planet of the Lonely, Rich, and Appropriately Hygienic Man. No, a bad day is when someone's yellin' spooks the cattle. If you say 'adorabubble,' I'm leaving. If I was blind, I would see you. I'm the one who brings about the thought-pocalypse.
Uh, thermal exhaust port's above the main port, numbnuts. She alone will stand against the vampires the demons and the forces of darkness. Instead you go all Dumbledore on me. The living legend needs eggs! Battle wounds are nothing new to me, preacher. All the protein, vitamins and carbs of your grandma's best turkey dinner, plus fifteen percent alcohol. You'd best make peace with your dear and fluffy Lord. If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion actually was there, it would've been like Woodstock. Nobody could do that much decoupage without calling on the powers of darkness.
The human body can be drained of blood in 8.6 seconds given adequate vacuuming systems. Turns out I suddenly find myself needing to know the plural of apocalypse. Well, a gathering is brie, mellow song stylings; shindig, dip, less mellow song stylings, perhaps a large amount of malt beverage; and hootenanny, well, it's chock full of hoot, just a little bit of nanny. Can't call to mom, can't say a word.
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