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Or was I on the verge of something?
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My mind reeled with thoughts.
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Voices. Stand-up premises.
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Why don't they just make tires out of pavement
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so you can drive on anything? What's up with buttons?
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What would happen if Nicholson was a gynecologist?
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There was something there.
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I need a notepad.
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Maybe a blazer.
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Honey, I-I-I don't know when I'll be home.
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How could you guys hate me more than Pierce?
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Or anything more than Pierce?