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of sons of bitches I've got waiting for him?
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Now, as I said, I'm no Einstein.
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But I can count to 24.
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And in case you're wondering--
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I was so I studied up on my news footage--
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24 is the exact number of arrows he carries in his quiver
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and flechettes around his forearm.
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Lose the bow, Merida.
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Ventilate him.
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My daughter! My little girl!
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I'm the vigilante. You're the cop.
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That doesn't mean I have to read the bastard his rights, though.