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Regular doses of an over achieved mental prognostication. Extra curricular effort invested into an extraneous and unrecognized series of empty events. Crumbled parapets and disheveled personal affects clutter the tabletop battlefield. But from behind… Unaware. Eye's swollen shut after suffering the indignant and impersonal designations; the propagators of fear. Lick-a-stick cancer. Force your fist through to her womb. Don't retreat regardless of the operator's orders. It is Saint Patrick's Day and the suffocated placenta is not wearing the necessary hue. Traditional duty requires a little squeeze… Just a slight tweak of the flesh… Pinch! Fatty layers of mother stifle the infants wailing disapproval, although despite the impossibly faint and unintelligible gurgling you are aware that the maggot suffers your imposed agony. And you smile. 
Uphold the methods acceptable within this machines tolerable boundaries. And. Suck it up.
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