The Batlord grabs the dark light (That makes it sound like I've ascended to another level of being.)
While checking himself, The Batlord's hand became smeared in ****. The dark room now smells like burnt dookie.
What does he do now?
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Quote:
Originally Posted by J.R.R. Tolkien
There is only one bright spot and that is the growing habit of disgruntled men of dynamiting factories and power-stations; I hope that, encouraged now as ‘patriotism’, may remain a habit! But it won’t do any good, if it is not universal.
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