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| Good afternoon ma'am. I represent Lynch Mob '02. I'm here to perform a lynching on your son. | |
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| Your son. The fat disgusting piece of lard that deserves to die in an absolutely horrific manner. Preferably over a period of days, if time permits. | |
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| Maybe I know him... Why don't you come upstairs and jog my memory, big boy. | |
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| Uh, no. I rather have a glass rod shoved up my dick and shattered. You know what, I think I'll just let myself in to murder your son, then I'll be out of your hair, you disgusting, old crackwhore. | |
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| Your loss handsome. The sack of shit is in the basement. | |
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