Walked downstairs in my boxers (only) carrying a baseball bat.

With the way my hair goes all Londo Mollari after a few restless hours of sleep, it looks like Grog the Neanderthal Sasquatch asking you to politely keep the peace with Jose's finest tarred pine resting wearily upon my shoulder.

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I'm not completely heartless, the doctor who removed it told me he'd never be able to get it all.