You. Fetch me my copy of the Wall Street Journal. You two, fight to the death.
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Yes, I rather like this God fellow. He's very theatrical, you know, a pestilence here, a plague there. Omnipotence. Gotta get me some of that
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I've got a better idea. Let's go play "swallow the stuff under the sink."
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I've got an army to raise and I must get to Nicaragua. I require a window seat and an in-flight Happy Meal AND NO PICKLES. OH, GOD HELP YOU IF I FIND PICKLES
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Damn you, vile woman! Blast! What the deuce!
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Forecast for tomorrow; A few sprinkles of genius with a chance of doom.