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Bitch please. I'm apart of an organization of dangerous, so secret, and so elite that the only time you're ever going to hear about it is during the last few moments of your life while I cut your heart and eat it with some garlic and olive oil. I've hunted over a thousand dangerous game with my trusty .450 Dakota. Ever shot a truck sized target with a .450 Dakota, boy? That shit turns into pink mist. I could snap your neck without even touching you and your would stop in your tracks taking one look into my steely gaze. I'm just the pinnacle of godliness, so come at me.

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  • Yep, you're apart of that there organization, alright ... and with your spelling and grammatical skills, you'll also probably come apart at the seams when you fart. Want a REAL fight? Shove your head up your ass and fight for breath.
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