Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$: Part One, Chapter Nine

Excerpts from r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s satire Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$

 Physical front, back and spine of Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$.

Physical front, back and spine of Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$.

11/10/18, 2:10 pm EST

By John Corry

From the flap:

“Imagine if Tom Wolfe had been born in 1975 and instead of writing 'Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers' in 1970, he'd have written a book about the state of society and it's obsession with social media, internet fame and all of the intricacies that go along with it. On shrooms. Using Chuck Palahniuk's 'Pygmy' as his sole piece of inspiration.... you'd have John Corry's 'Phi11y's P-Hines[T] /> #Hardcore Phant-[O]m$'.” -Travis Besecker (author and comedy writer)

After 19-year-old reformed gang member Randall Gähstŭr is brutally murdered at the start of the Baltimore riots of 2015, the subsequent investigation leads both his former closest friends and the two very different special agents assigned to investigating the case into a web of conspiracy involving everything from police corruption, to global world domination, to manipulated/unnecessarily clung-to gang violence (relatively defined), war, and, eventually /> r(E)volution.

Every Monday and Friday, we’ll be releasing 1-2 chapters of r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$. You check it out here, get a free PDF here, or check it out on Amazon, or on Barnes and Noble.

Parental discretion is advised.

IX

August 31st, 2014

11:22 p.m.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!”

“GAAAAHHHH!!!”

“Stay still!!!”

Herb was stickin’ #TheBrand™ to Randall’s upper thigh–

>’Psssssstttttttttghhhh’: WAS THE SOUND OF BURNING FLESH!! ==OO<

“FUCK you!!!–”

Randall PUNCHED Herb in the arm, the arm he was holding #TheBrand™ with, and then ran off like a crazy dog on bath salts, forcing Herb to drop #TheBrand™ on the ground to more affectively turn his attention to nursing his manly bicep so as to theoretically avoid more pain (it didn’t help). If not already apparent, or for a needed emphasis on what was really important here, Randall was pretty drunk™–

Quietly, Herb, still nursing his arm, mumbled: “Ow…”

“BAHAHAHAHA!” the peanut gallery howled–

“It hurts!” Herb yelled at them. He was very upset (not really :/). There was a loud splash as Randall jumped in the pool–

“Is he supposed to be jumping in there?” Herb asked. “Won’t that fuck up #TheBrand™?–”

 “No you idiot,” Barry interrupted. “There’s a shit-ton of chlorine in there, it’ll clean it out–”

“Well, I know that for tattoos–”

“That’s the ocean, dude. Don’t go in the ocean.” –Al #TheMoreYouKnow .

“Oh, right.”

A few more minutes of quiet shit-talking later, Randall got out of the pool, walked aggressively (sloppily) back over to the group. He took another quick shot off the table before–

“I mean, what a fuckin’ loser, what kind of nerd would get his gamer tag #Branded™ on himself?–”

“Yo, what was that, Barry?!–”

Randall slipped on the concrete, fell on the ground like a drunken idiot. Everyone laughed. Randall stood up, ran over to Al–

WHAT THA FUCK, MAN?!” Randall said, and he got real close, all up in Al’s grill like he was about to make out with him or something gross like that #DudesOnDudesIsSimplyNo-tCool,Dude,NotCoolAtAll(EVER)(Prudes) –

“Get #Branded™ !” Randall yelled. “Get #Branded™ BITCH!!!” and then Randall PUSHED him, but Al was a decently smart guy it would seem (apparently, smarter than most)–

“Dude, why would I get your gamer tag #Branded™ on me?” he said. “I’m not R-Man, you’re R-Man!”

“That’s am.. –mmvb /> good point!” Randall turned around, looked at House, pointed at him–

“You!” he cried! And House just replied: “Nah man, this is my house, I can’t have my parents knowing I got #Brand-  ed™ –”

“Touché! Hershel?!–”

“What?! Dawg? Are you serious?! House’s excuse didn’t even make any sense–”

“What the FUCK do you think Hershel, you FUCKIN’ PUSSY?! Get #Branded™!!!”

“Dude, no way–” Hershel said, backing up with his hands raised. “I’m not doin’ that–”

“YOU FUCKIN’ BITCH DUUUUDE! YOU A BADASS OR WHAT?!–”

“No. No, I’m not a badass,” Hershel replied, still backing up, hands raised even higher now (there may have been a slight laugh behind his tone). “You’re way more like, badass than me. Like, you’re the most badass, *TheMostFuckingBadassFuck-ingEver , I could never be so much of a badass to have done what you just did.”

“Oh, alright.”

Clearly affected by this newfound infinite supply of self-optimism, and the never-ending unchangeable confidence it so irreversibly inferred in our subject *TheMostOptimism *The-Most *TheMost , Randall turned slowly around, but, as he did so, once again with the help of the concrete pole still holding up House’s house (or, rather, House’s parents’ house), he accidentally saved himself from falling over, once again, as a result of his oblique drunkenness–

 “AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-H–” Barry laughed/reacted (…like a dolphin? :^{|}). The laugh was obvious, though it wasn’t meant to be…

“You think you’re hardcore, Barry?”

Randall now spoke soft, and with a confidence also strongly prevalent in his albeit very sloppy walk–a confidence of an almost *Presidential quality *SoPresidential , yet still not overwhelming to the brains of the masses–as he slowly moved in closer to his offender (Barry).

“What the fuck do you think?” Barry replied. The group quieted.

O.O

“Then get #Branded™–”

“No, that’s fuckin’ stupid, you drunk idiot–”

“Oh, I’m a drunk idiot?”

“Yea. You drank over two thirds of that Wild Blue Vodka® handle all by yourself. Shit’s disgusting–”

“Who you callin’ a pussy, biiiiitch??–”

Randall danced his head in closer, but Herb got in the middle–

“Dude–”

“Get the FUCK offa me, dawg–”

Herb put his hands up, backed himself away, as Randall moved in even closer to Barry, who was now almost totally pinned up against a foundation supporter pole holding up House’s house (or, more accurately, the house that House’s parents owned and maintained (for the most part)–)

“You think you’re #Hardcore, Barry? You with your leather boots, and your sinful heavy metal music??? It’s bullshit. All bullshit. Hip-Hop is the way to go: Biggie, Talib, Pac, Karen Carpenter, Ol’ Dirty Bastard /> Kinda like you: little dirty bastard, wannabe-hardcore, black-metal douchebag Bitch Bitch Bitch Bitch Bitch...”

He echoed that last part as if in a dream (===O)–

Randall and Barry were now almost nose-to-nose–

 “I’m not getting fucking #Branded™, you fuck–”

“YOU THINK YOU’RE HARDCORE?! GET #BRAN-DED™ !!!!–”

“You can’t even tell what yours is supposed to say!–”

“Again!”

Randall turned around, his hands far above his head in excitement. “Let’s go!!!”

Hershel was already nursing #TheBrand™ in the fire–

“Alright!” he said with enthusiasm. “Herb?!”

“Oh, no, I’m not–”

/>

Hershel handed the freshly heated Brand™ to a piquantly held-tightly-by-his-shoulders Herb (fixed to his space by the hysterically laughing House and Al /> respectively ;), with an anxious Randall laying on his side right next to him–only: in his boxers this time (=D)–ready to be #Branded™ on the other leg, holding said leg with both of his hands, his eyes closed tight, and ready to embrace the heat #AmericaIsInHeat . When Hershel gave Herb the flaming clothes hanger, Herb had no choice: he closed his eyes, and stuck #TheBrand™ to Randall’s skin as hard as he could–

The smell penetrated his nostrils like Hell showing itself specifically, **in-detail-edly[1], so bad that Herb thought this like a crazy person, right then and there, even though he had no time to really hold #TheBrand™ down (or, therefore, to get a good whiff of the smell), in the first place, anyway, as Randall immediately stood up and ran around the backyard a few times like a drunken fool (about three hundred square yards)–

Everyone in the group was laughing hard: harder now than ever before in the hangout area under the deck of House’s housed #House (house, house, house–) everyone, that is />

Save for Barry.

======OOOOOOOOO

Randall came back sweating and staggering worse than ever. He looked kind of like a drunk Courtney Love at that one awards show in the early 90s where–

“What’s up BARRY?! Who’s hardcore now MOTHER-FUCKER!”

“What are you saying now?–”

“Get #Branded™ HONKY!“ and Randall PUSHED Barry hard, forced Barry to stagger to his feet in order to ensure his not falling over–

Barry didn’t like that very much.

>=H[2]

 “Yo, don’t fuckin’ push me, dawg,” he replied slowly, shaking his head, moving aggressively in.

“Don’t fuckin’ push me, man,” Barry repeated.

“You’re not #Hardcore,” Randall said back, also moving in closer. “You think you’re #Hardcore? Well, you’re fuckin’ not–”

Randall PUSHED him again, so that Barry, not being wasted or in the slightest sense drunk at all (just really high), pushed him right back, sending Randall’s face straight into the concrete pole holding up House’s house, or, as I might prefer to say (I think?), his mom and dad’s house… respectively–

>Blood<

“Ooooh.”

The laughter died off as Randall went in for another punch /> but Barry was quick to dodge it. It was pretty easy for him. Randall was slow, sloppy, and off-aim. Then Barry punched Randall hard, right in the nose–

>More blood<

“Hey, come on, man!” Herb screamed. “He’s obviously wasted!–”

“He started it!–”

Al trailed Barry away to get him off Randall’s ass, and to try to calm him down as Herb and House leaned down to try and help Randall back to his feet.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Randall said with his left hand holding onto his bleeding nose and mouth. He stood back up.

“Herb’s right,” he said. “Barry. Barry, dude.”

Holding out his right hand as if to shake, Randall seemed genuine.

=O[3]

“Yea?” Barry asked him. “We cool? You fuckin’ drunk slob?”

“Yea, man, we cool,” Randall replied, and Barry went in for the shake.

It seemed like a good idea at the time (=o). It even felt like the climax of the night was over, like everything was all going to go back to being unique, special /> but it wasn’t. Until that moment, it’d felt like just another normal night where somebody just-so-happened to commit to being physically #Branded™ , with no medical or experienced expertise present (as would have clearly been a waste anyway), and was therefore–#Branded™ –and was then super stoked on it as any person just having been #Branded™ with a molding clothes hanger made in 1984 would be, but Randall had other plans. Apparently, no matter what seems or feels to be happening, the world always has a way of surprising you, even if, after the surprise, you look back and it really wasn’t all that surprising–

>Randall’d tricked him!<

Barry felt his hand pulled in, quickly decided not to let Randall get the last laugh! After easily dodging Randall’s punch (if you could call it that), Barry let his left arm hurl to hit Randall in the middle of his already bloody face–

Randall passed out, and fell, hitting his head on yet another concrete pole holding up House’s parent’s house, and then, to make things worse, he fell STRAIGHT into the fire pit, knocking the thing over, as well as the case of awesome, 10.5% ABV (or: ‘Alcohol By Volume xD) ‘Boogie Down to South Central’ imperial IPA that House had just recently unveiled as a surprise for everyone to enjoy (they ran out of ‘Spicy Mexican’ (as everyone always does </3)). House really was a very nice guy–

Randall’s palm caught flame #HisArmCaughtFlame! , but, luckily, Al, Herb and House were able to pull him away, and put it out, in time, so that the rest of him didn’t catch as well–

“What the fuck, Barry?!” Al yelled. Herb poured some water on the fire out of the bottle they were using as an ashtray for cigarettes–

House screamed: “The beer is destroyed!”

“Well, he shoulda watched his fuckin’ mouth!”

“Dude, you’re paying for this,” House said. “This case alone was a hundred and two dollars–”

“Man, fuck you. I ain’t paying you a hundred dollars-–”

House: “A hundred and two!–”

“A hundred and two dollars just because Randall got too fuckin’ drunk to realize how much of a fuckin’ burnout he’s turned into–”

“We’re all burnouts, you bloody cunt-rag!!!–”

“A hundred and two dollars for a case of beer?” Al asked. “How the fuck do they make this shit, ‘brewed with love, personally by Lauryn Hill and Beyoncé on the premises?!’–”

“Lauryn Hill’s still alive?–”

“If only–”

“Alright, everyone’s paying for it!” House interrupted. “That’s $20.25 each unless you guys are gonna clean all this shit up, in which case I might take off the quarter–”

“Hey, FUCK YOU BARRY!!!! YOU AIN’T HARD-CORE!!!!!!!!!!”

Randall came back to consciousness, tried fairly unsuccessfully to stand himself up–

“You need to calm down,” Herb tried to reason. “You’re extremely injured right now–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, CUCKHOLD, CRYING UN-HARDCORE BITCH!!–”

“Alright guys, I think I’m out.”

o.OOOO[4]

“I got work in the morning,” Hershel continued.

Herb broke the silence: “Dude–”

“See ya, pals!” and Hershel was off! Up the stairs, and on the drive home!

=DD

Randall was back on his feet, and back to taunting Barry–

“You’re not #Hardcore, man!!!!”

 “Randall, you are wasted!!!”

“Not so wasted to forget that you’re NOT HARD-CORE!!–”

House: “Alright, I think it’s time for you to come in.”

“Yea, okay.”

House proceeded to help Randall to the inside of the home. It was almost like Randall had an on/off button only accessible to those who smiled and had a great time all the time.

=D[5]

Herb: “Don’t forget to give him a trashcan!–”

“Fuck you, troll!–”

>Door closes<

Al and Herb stayed, and looked, amazed-yet-accidentally, at Barry. Eventually, after quite the awkward silence, Al picked up a roll of paper towels off the bar-top, and started to clean some of the blood off the concrete structure poles holding up House’s house /> or: the house at which House resided, but was actually owned and paid for by his parents #MomAndDad –

Herb quickly joined him.

Barry: “Man, fuck this shit,” and then Barry just left.

Al and Herb stood and stared on in amazement (like, even more so than before).

><[6]

“Did he really just do that?” Al asked Herb.

Herb sighed, and replied: “Yea, I guess he did.”

Indeed, Barry was gone.

:(

“What a fuckin’ toolbag.” –Al.

“True dat–”

“Alright, I think he’s finally asleep.”

House came out of the sliding glass door after putting Randall to nap-time, and was appalled to find what he did.

“Where’s Hershel?!” he yelled.

“He left,” Al answered. “You were here for that–”

“Where’s Barry?!”

“He left too.” –Herb.

“When?!”

“Just now.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?!”

Herb: “Yea dude–”

Al: “Fuckin’ bullshit, right?”

House sighed, looked around at the situation.

“Man, what a bitch,” he said with a light laugh #Calming-TheSituationWithBeingCalm . “Thanks for starting to clean up the blood.”

“Yea, no problem,” Al replied.

House: “Yea, I think we’re gonna have to pay for this table too.”

For a moment, they all stopped cleaning and looked at the large array of huge and tiny glass shards scattered all over the ground. It was a very, very, very nice table.

“This is gonna be like, two hundred for each of us,  easily–”

“Wait, what do you mean ‘each of us’?” Al asked.

“I mean we all need to pay for this. And the beer–”

“Dude, I didn’t do anything,” Al said.

 “So? You were here. Plus: now you have a great story to tell girls, for you, that alone is worth at least a hundred bucks–”

“This isn’t a great story to tell girls, all it says is that I have stupid friends–”

“Not all of us–”

“Shut up, Herb–”

Troll–”

“Uhhh, there’s no reason to be a felch, bro,” Herb said back to Al, and then shifted his attention the other way, towards House, and said: “Al’s right though: you’re rich, you can afford it–”

“FUCK you, you FUCKING cum-chugging fucktoy slaptard, that’s not the FUCKING point–”

“I’ll help you clean up,” Al started. “But barred nothing less than me vomiting on your nice-ass couch in there am I paying you any money for this crazy escapade.”

“Dude, you’re helping to pay for this. Get over it.”

“No I ain’t, dawg, fuuug daaat sheeeiiiit–”

“Herb is doing his part, right, Herb?”

“Man, I got a dog to feed, and my company’s CEO needs to pay for his fifth vacation home, I can’t afford to give you or the doctor saving my life that kind of money–”

“You fucking moochers are paying me right now! I don’t care what you say /> I got two dogs! This is fucked up, what you’re doing, and you’re not copping out here, you fucking lazy asses–”

“What about Hershel and Barry?!” Al asked.

“I’ll get to them later–”

Herb: “Don’t forget Randall–”

For this ironic, quick, split second here, the talking stopped, and everyone could hear, very loud, and very obviously, Randall’s heavy and chunky vomiting on the couch from inside. Herb had insisted that House give him a trashcan when he put him in there, but House, #Intelligently , didn’t listen.

><[7]

 “I told you to put a trashcan in there…”

House with his eyes closed and breathing heavily: “I don’t think you guys realize how expensive this is all going to be.”

“But–”

Very. Expensive.”

“House, I think Al is just–”

“It’s gonna be very, very… expensive…”

“… Dude–”

“Like… super duper expensive…”

……………………………………………

“$($$)ssshit–”

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$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[1] ‘Indetailedly’ (see glossary on pp. 281)

[2] Grrrr

[3] So genuine…

[4] Like, fo realz?

[5] How strange…

[6] Like, what a dick

[7] So intelligently…

- #WhatAFuckin’Idiot