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And what happened to my big sandwich?
See, now you have no excuses.
What are you, a Terminator?
Wherein Julia Louis-Dreyfus pawns her Emmy.
Sadly, the women in our lives won’t let us use flamethrowers.
So get on it, old man.
Weekend, or six months—both good options.
Or bats, as it were.
Also, something about burgers.
We remember Colonel Klink saying something like that.
Clothing based on tradition for a good cause.
Guess we’ll have to improvise for our targets . . .