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Somewhere, the Mossad is whistling in a conspicuous manner with their hands in their pockets, avoiding eye contact to the best of their ability.
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"This ain't no Ice Cream Social!"
"Hey Grif, Chupathingy...how bout that? I like it...got a ring to it."
"I have no earthly idea what it is I just saw, or what this place is, or where in the hell O'Malley is! My only choice is to blame Grif for coming up with such a flawed plan. Stupid, stupid Grif."
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