| It was a crisp, Halloween morning. |
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 | Goodmorning, Wallace. I know it's you under that sheet. You cannot decieve me or impede my judgement with a silly Halloween costume. | |
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| I am not Wallace, Phil. I am an imalleable object, merely a spatial spectre. | |
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| Don't lie. I can see the distortion of your figure under the sheet, Wallace. | |
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| Prepare for your demise, Phil! | |
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| .... | |
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| Yeah, I wasn't convinced either.... | |
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