Everybody was a baby once, Arthur. Oh, sure, maybe not today, or even yesterday. But once. Babies, chum: tiny, dimpled, fleshy mirrors of our us-ness, that we parents hurl into the future, like leathery footballs of hope. And you've got to get a good spiral on that baby, or evil will make an interception.
Man. I loves me some of that The Tick. I'm gonna just take a moment and ponder.
Man. I loves me some of that The Tick. I'm gonna just take a moment and ponder.
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