It was 1982. I was 48, you were nine months. We were on a flight from JFK to London. Saw you immediately. A baby on a seven-hour flight. The first hour was bliss… then the crying started. Small whimpers at first, then came the shrieking. Louder. Louder. Louder. Till it filled the whole cabin. When I arrived in London, I was a shell of a man. Broken. You see, I had spent my entire life savings to go to London to see my beloved Buckingham Palace, so I could see if I could make those soldiers laugh. Because of you, I was too tired to do anything funny! And I vowed from that day forward that I would devote the rest of my life to getting my revenge on you, little baby.
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Was that a toupee, you piece of shit?
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Do they come in other styles?
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Motorcycle with no motor? Okay!
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This is a betrayal on levels that no one has ever seen!
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All right, you two, get to class. The bell already rang. You can't be in the hall when the bell rang. The bell already rang.
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"But can't I stay here?"
"You can't just sit wherever."
"You can at some concerts."
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