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To wreak an unholy vengeance upon the driver of the car who's standing there, scratching his head, trying to figure out how a zombie baby's head can be beneath his car tires but the rest of the body is nowhere to be seen-- unless he were to turn around and notice the zombie baby body bearing down on him, coming ever closer, ready with grasping, pudgy zombie baby fingers to tear and rend at the flesh of this self-same driver who ran his head over, on the dark and rain-swept road that snakes down from the castle of the madman who's creating an army of zombie babies to do his dark, libidinal bidding.
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"One of the first places we went to was the leaning tower of Pisa. It was really neat."
"Cool. Did you go up inside it?"
"No, we couldn't, since George is a cripple. But we did go to visit the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris. That was really neat."
"Cool. Did you go up inside it?"
"No, we couldn't, since George is a cripple. But we did go to visit Big Ben in London."
"Cool. Did you go up inside it?"
"No, we couldn't, since George is a cripple. But we did attend mass at the Vatican."
"Really? What happened?"
"Well, the Pope made the sign of the cross, and George dropped his right crutch, and he dropped his left crutch."
"Cool. What happened then?"
"George fell on his ass. He's a cripple, you know."
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