If only I owned a machine gun, I would polish and shine it with the diligence of an OCD-stricken gunsmith. Then one day I shall load it and wait for the clock to strike 1:01. I shall wear my brand new boots and walk out on the streets and put five bullets each through every hyperactive clown dressed in neon pants.
No. It's not paranoia this time.
No. It's not paranoia this time.
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