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"Okay," barks the tiny poodle, in a gruff "middle aged man who smokes seven packs a day" kind of voice, "I'll be quick. Your life is in danger. You have to get out of here now."
You stand there, sizing him up. "You're a dog." "And you're the president. Your enemies are coming for you, but don't worry, I'm here to help." You cross your arms. "What enemies?"
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3/22/2016 5:48:33 AM
Extending Enabled
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