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This message These are the previous 2 parts to the ManMan Saga, I suggest anyone who wants to understand the next one take a little look at the story inside! : ). was posted by ManMan on Wednesday, January 29, 2003 at 07:06.
ManMan Hit’s the Road - The New Proctology! Origin Edition.
Bill Wetworth fidgeted nervously in the queue, he’d been waiting for his chance to audition for 4 hours and his time was getting close, only one more applicant and then it would be his turn. He took a deep breath to try and relax, but it didn’t work and strangely made him out of breath. Maybe it was the mask, he thought idly to himself. He adjusted his black cowl making sure he could see as well as breathe. If I’m having trouble with this thing, imagine what the poor buggers with lycra bodysuits are going through. He tried to empathize with the man behind him, wearing a pair of black pantaloons with a blue/black lycra top, he was also sporting a moustache that was obviously used for evil “twiddling”, the man’s jester hat (ornately decorated with glitter and gold stars) only served to enhance his absurdness. Bill noticed the man was also looking at him, upon the recognition, he smiled and greeted him. The jester hat man muttered something in reply that Bill couldn’t hear. “Pardon?” he asked.
“I said…..you…are…a STINKING PEASANT! YOU ALL ARE!” The man cried, spittle erupting from his mouth. “I OWN A CASTLE AND YET I HAVE TO WAIT IN LINE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!!” The man clenched tighter, breathing through his teeth. He pulled Bill close to his face, “I ruled the universe once,” the mans voice barely a whisper in Bill’s ear, “I’ve beaten the Lair Legion, held the UN to ransom and yet…here I am.” His lip started to tremble, he slumped to his knees and threw his hands up in the air. “When O When Lord? When will the world know the name of The THIGHMASTER?”
Silence, then. “Uh…Aren’t you an infomercial?” A voice asked from behind.
TM turned snarling, “How DARE you! I chose my name long before Suzanne Somers came along peddling her leg enhancing filth!” TM stood up, sighed and wished Browning - his loyal servant - were here, but after the ‘universe ruling’ thing, the man had disappeared. So he’d been left on his own, forced to make his own decisions, his own choices and worst of all…his own tea. Finding his own way back in to the criminal empire world was just as tough, but this audition for the Proctology seemed like a good stepping stone before going on to bigger things. He just had to keep it together, no ‘scenes’ like the one he’d just starred in. Breaking his train of thought, he realised The Peasant in front of him was gone, although a black cowl lay on the floor trampled by a dusty footprint. “NEXT!” A voice announced just beyond a door. TM puffed out his chest and strutted on in.
----
Swingy chewed on a pen tip as he considered the applicants the group had reviewed so far, most were hoaxes or tourists wanting to catch a glimpse of real live super villains, others were has-beens, were-beens, and never-will-bes, but a couple stuck in his mind as promising. The man who could stretch his arms and legs and breathe fire through his mouth was - he had to admit - pretty cool, a pity the man teleported away before they could get his details, said something about a tournament…Star-Fish burbled noisily as the next applicant entered. Pudu Lad looked up from behind a clipboard, “Please state your name for the record-” he asked.
The new applicant smiled, “My name is….The Thighmaster!” he announced in expectation. He nodded at the group huddled behind a desk, urging them to remember him. Pudu Lad jotted the name down on his clipboard.
“Riight…” said Swingy not knowing how to reply. “And you saw our ad in the paper?”
“Yes, right here,” The Thighmaster rooted around in his costume before pulling out a newspaper clipping. “‘Wanted: Dastardly people for dastardly deeds.’” He read from it. “I can say with all assurance that I am the most dastardly person you will ever meet.”
“We’ve met some pretty dastardly people…” challenged Swingy.
“I’m more dastardly than ANYONE,” repeated TM.
“We’ve met Baron Zemo…”
“More dastardly,” replied TM, nonchalantly.
“The Yurt…”
“More dastardly.”
“The Apostate…”
“More dastardly…”
“The Hooded Hood…”
“More- Well…” The Thighmaster looked over both his shoulders before continuing. Then he mouthed ‘dastardly’.
“Really? MORE dastardly the THE HOODED HOOD?!?” shouted Swingy.
“Yes! Shh! I mean….” TM sighed - all or nothing. “Yes, I’m more dastardly than the Hooded Hood.”
The Proctology gasped in mixed admiration and fear. They quickly huddled together in conference.
“Burble!”
“Star-Fish is right…” concurred The Living Statement! Before adding, “Cell mitosis, cell mitosis…protein creation, protein creation…”
Swingy glared at the pair. “Hey! I’m leader here. I say who’s in or out…”
“Gentlemen,” interrupted The Thighmaster, “Might I make a suggestion?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What you clearly need is a leader, a criminal mastermind. You’ve all got talent, it’s obvious to anyone. Swingy, my dear fellow, the burden on you must be enormous, carrying a group on your own….Why did you want to become a criminal? To gain respect? To earn money? Yes, but primarily because you wanted to rob and steal and pillage and plunder! But what happens? You get lumbered with the paperwork, the planning, all the day-to-day boring minutiae that spoils all the fun. Let me help you carry your load, make the decisions while you roll in the fun of it all, or you can dismiss me, and carry on as you have been…”
“Pillage and plunder…?” Swingy wondered out loud. “Ok, you’re in!”
“Excellent…” hissed Thighmaster his fingers steepled together.
----
“Next!” shouted Thighmaster. He smiled at his new comrades either side of him. A collective panic spread throughout the room as the Proctology scrambled to escape from the next applicant.
“It’s spiffy! Run away!” shouted undead Mr Ed.
“Burble!”
Thighmaster sat calmly at the desk. “Ah good, you’ve shown up! I told you didn’t I?” he winked. He turned to appease his men who were trying to boost each other out of a window. “Gentlemen! Please! This is no hero, this is a friend. He’s our first inductee.” The group calmed but were still confused, sensing this, TM introduced him proper. “This is spiffy2! The FIRST spiffy clone!” The faux-fern-wielder nodded slowly in a silent greeting.
----
“Next!” shouted a now hoarse Thighmaster, he was surprised at the turn-out, though most were a waste of his time. Like the one he had just dealt with. “So uh like…am I in?” asked his previous applicant, a lank haired hippy called Dr FeelGood, who claimed by spreading his love throughout the world he was creating the laziest generation of children the world had ever seen. Though TM admired the plan, especially for it‘s scope, he couldn’t see any of his group following through with such an endeavour, especially undead Mr Ed. Turning back to the Dr. “No, NEXT! Means GET THE HELL OUT!” screamed the Thighmaster hoping to pierce the mans buzz.
“Oh…” replied the Doctor, but he just stood in the same spot, gently swaying to some inner rhythm.
The Thighmaster pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head gently as the next applicant entered. TM looked up, and was instantly impressed. The man wore a black crushed velvet bodysuit, the only holes visible were for his eyes and they displayed a cool blue intensity which challenged all who looked into them. “Please state your name-” asked Pudu Lad, his clipboard held at the ready.
“Spleen-Splitter,” replied the man.
TM raised his eyebrows in admiration. “You have a nice costume Mr Splitter, but do you have any powers that would match the quality of your tailor?”
Spleen-Splitter paused and looked to his left, where Dr FeelGood stood. “I can kill him with this…” the man replied, holding out his little finger.
“Excellent….Well, go on…” Urged TM, causing a little unrest between some of his group.
Pudu Lad was the first to speak up. “Uh….Mr Master?”
“Yes?” Thighmaster answered, slightly impatient.
undead Mr Ed. spoke for him. “Y’see, we’re not really into that whole ‘death’ bit. I mean, we’re evil, but we don’t kill. Especially things like that.” The rest nodded in agreement.
TM paused, he hated mutiny, and wanted to slap a couple of the more meekly-minded of his group, but he was new in charge and had yet to receive total loyalty. “Never let it be said that I don’t listen to my men. Mr Splitter, could you….cripple him instead?” He looked at his group for approval, not receiving any, he commuted the Doctors sentence further. “Ok, Ok…Knock him out.”
Spleen-Splitter nodded in compliance, walked over to the hippy, extended his little finger once more and drove it into the mans neck. The Doctor slumped to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry.
“Excellent!” applauded The Thighmaster. “He’s in,” he told Pudu Lad.
“Uh….Ok, Mr Master,” the deer-duplicator replied, and put a tick on the clipboard.
“Well, I think that’s quite enough for today,” Thighmaster concluded. “We now total eight, which is plenty - maybe too plenty - one or two of you might have to shape up to stay in MY gang,” he added casting a glare over some of the older members.
----
One Month Later
The New Proctology sat around a large dining table inside Thighmaster Keep, the residence of the super villain. “Right, it’s time for a monthly review,” announced the group leader. “Are we all here?”
“Pudu Lad is getting Star-Fish from his tank,” replied undead Mr Ed.
Thighmaster dismissed them. “Well, they don’t matter. Let’s get started. First of all, I’d like to congratulate you all on the marvellous progress you’ve made in the past 4 weeks. Spleen-Splitter and spiffy2 should be especially proud of themselves, a couple of you who shall go unnamed will need to follow their example if you’re going to make a ‘bad’ impression on the public,” TM chuckled. “Anywhoo, I’d like to announce this month’s cut-”
“Cut?” asked Swingy, slightly perplexed.
“Yes,” replied TM. “We have to separate the wheat from the chaff…How are we going to rival groups like The Purveyors of Peril unless we do so?”
Pudu Lad entered carrying Star-Fish on a silver tray. “Sorry we’re late,” apologized the teenager.
“Excellent, now we’re all here…” TM said, before grabbing Star-Fish and throwing him - shuriken like - out an open window.
“Hey!” Pudu Lad cried in outrage. “You can’t do that!”
“Oh don’t worry boy,” Thighmaster shushed him. “He’ll be happier with his own kind….In the moat!” he cackled.
----
“Welcome everybody….Is everybody here?”
“No, Pudu Lad is trying to get Mr Ed from the courtyard,” replied Swingy.
“Well…No matter, I’d like to welcome the relevant members of the group to our second monthly review. I must say, all in all, I’ve been pretty damn well chuffed with what you’ve accomplished. Again, Spleen-Splitter and spiffy2 should be commended for their daring raid on that money train last week, which netted me- I mean us, over $500,000! And still the various law enforcement groups around the country have no leads. Swingy, congratulations on the growth you’ve shown…Living Statement!….Excellent….Which brings me to this months cut…”
“Another one?” Swingy asked.
“Of course…You don’t want anyone to hinder our progress…Do you? You are a team player aren’t you?”
“Well….yeah…”
Pudu Lad entered leading Mr Ed by a harness.
“Excellent, they’re here. Mr Ed. Would you mind stepping into that pentagram? Lovely….erutaerc sselesu enogeb!“
A bright light engulfed the undead horse as he started to spin.
“What’s happening?” cried The Living Statement! Before adding, “cell mitosis, protein creation…”
“Oh…nothing…Just a little exorcism…” replied Thighmaster.
“What? You’re killing Mr Ed?!?” cried Pudu Lad.
The horse stopped spinning, the light dimmed and a pile of bones fell to the cobbled stone floor of the dining room. “Of course not, I’m merely just sending him where he should’ve gone many, many years ago…” TM hugged the boy by the shoulder. “He’s with his family now, prancing in the fields with all the mares…Can’t you see he’d be happier there?”
“Well….Maybe…” conceded the deer-duplicator.
“Excellent…my boy…Now why don’t you go and make us some tea…?”
----
“Welcome everybody….Is everybody here?” Asked The Thighmaster.
“Yes! Everybody’s here…cell mitosis…” replied The Living Statement!
“Really? Excellent…First off, well done Swingy! The combined earnings of your recent mugging spree is up to $82! Spleen-Splitter and spiffy2, a wonderful - and successful - kidnapping operation that netted the group over $700,000! We’ll all be able to buy nice things out of the super villain catalogue with that sort of money…..Boy!”
“Yes Mr Master?” replied Pudu Lad, who, over the past few months had gotten used to being The Thighmaster’s personal aide.
“Why don’t you fetch us all some tea?” TM offered.
“Now? In the middle of the meeting?” PL eyed The Living Statement! nervously. The pleading he found on the mans face made the teenager uncomfortable. “Why don’t I-?”
“Why don’t you go and make us all a NICE CUP OF TEA???” TM hissed through his teeth.
“Go boy, it will be easier,” reassured Spleen-Splitter.
“O-oh Kay…” Pudu Lad agreed and stepped quickly out of the dining room.
The Living Statement! looked around him in a fidgeted panic. “cell mitosis….protein distribution…”
“Mr Statement?” Thighmaster began. “You are an incompetent little imbecile who’s only use around here is for the general amusement of all, but recently you’ve become tiring, so do us all a big favour and SHUT-UP?!?!”
Shocked by his outburst, The Living Statement! fell quiet and promptly dropped dead. “Excellent…” sighed the Thighmaster.
----
Pudu Lad sat on his bed, in his own room of the castle and contemplated the past few months, sure, they’d been successful, but the group had become something different to what he joined, something…evil, well…eviller, anyway. And he knew he was next, the monthly review was tomorrow and he didn’t know what to do, making decisions wasn’t something he did often. A thought occurred to him, his brother lived in Las Vegas, maybe…
The deer-duplicator made a decision. “I'M GOING OUT FOR SOME FRESH AIR!!” he called, before leaping, gazelle-like, on the road to Las Vegas.
----
Nats, spiffy, ManMan and Stacy Gwen had huddled around the teenager as he recalled his story in the hotel of the Golden Lion. “There’s another spiffy clone?? Geez, how many more??” cried an exasperated fern-wielder.
“The Thighmaster’s back…” ManMan mulled over the statement.
“So he killed 3 of your team-mates?” Nats asked, loving a good story.
“No…I…Well…After Star-Fish was thrown into the moat, I went fishing…When Mr Ed was exorcised, I dabbled a little voodoo…”
“But what about The Living Statement!?” asked spiffy.
“Same thing…” replied Pudu Lad. “Though he thinks The Undead Living Statement! is pushing it a bit far…Besides, the first thing he said when he came back was…‘Now I don’t have to concentrate on bodily functions!’”
----
“In other news: The annual Elvis Presley festival begins in Las Vegas tomorrow, proceedings are to be opened by the Mayor and his personal guest, the superhero - ManMan…
*click*
“Excellent….Proctology...ASSEMBLE!"
Previously - ManMan, spiffy and Nats have just learned from the defecting Pudu Lad that The Thighmaster has returned and taken up the leadership of a super villain group called The Proctology, who spiffy has had numerous dealings with in the past (mostly very, very, short ones). Unbeknownst to our trio, The Proctology know of their whereabouts…
ManMan hit’s the Road - Las Vegas.
“So what do we do about them?” asked Nats. “I mean, it sounds like that ‘Thigh guy’ is pretty serious…”
ManMan rubbed his chin in thought. “Nothing, for the moment. I mean, we’re stuck until the festival’s over, so we might as well make the best of it…” The Elvis Impersonator eyed the mini-bar. “And it’s not like they know we’re here…”
“I’m not sure about that Joe…” replied Knifey. “This festival is a pretty big deal, it’ll most likely be on the news.”
ManMan snorted. “Ha! The Thighmaster doesn’t watch any program unless the title contains ‘World’s Dumbest-’.”
“Manny’s right,” agreed spiffy. “I mean, about making the best of it.” The fern-wielder eyed Stacy Gwen. “Besides, the festival *is* tomorrow, and I haven’t a speech prepared or anything,” he turned to Joe. “Have you got yours done yet? ‘cause I could really do with some inspiration, I mean, I won’t copy or anything…”
“Speech?” Joe asked, panic creeping into his voice. “You never said ANYTHING about making a speech…”
“Oh….I didn’t? heh heh…Whoops,” the fern-wielder shrugged.
“I thought I had to, y’know cut a ribbon or something! Say ’Hail to the King’s Festival’ and *snip*” panicked Joe, making scissor motions with his fingers.
“Sounds good to me,” replied spiffy, making mental notes.
Joe slumped back into an over-sized chair. “Now I have stand up in front of hundreds of people-”
“More like thousands…” interjected Nats.
“Thousands??”
“More like tens of thousands…” corrected spiffy. “Possibly hundreds of millions - counting the TV audience…”
ManMan slunk deeper into the chair. “Oh crap.”
----
Revered silence hung in the air of the church, the attending hundreds making no sound as they prayed on the eve of the holiest day of their calendar. There was a creak at the far end of the hall as a door opened next to an altar, and then he entered.
The Reverend, clad in his customary white, shuffled up toward the pulpit and opened his book. Clearing his throat he began to read - “‘And thus He spake - You ain’t nuthin’ but a Hound-Dog, cryin’ all the time. You ain’t nuthin’ but a Hound-Dog, cryin’ all the time. You ain’t never caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine.’ What did The King mean? Was He concerned for His dog’s hunting skills? No. Obviously this a parable, a metaphorical story which so clearly highlights the fate of humanity! He is our Lord - giving us a chance to catch the ‘rabbit’ or our ‘faith’ - He tells us that we’re ‘cryin’ all the time’, but do we seek redemption? Do we seek salvation in the arms of our King? Do we catch the ‘rabbit’? No, and yet still we cry…He speaks to us in anger, knowing that his message would not be received by the masses, and that without him we would fall. For a while, I was in a quandary, I wondered why He would give us this message if we were destined to fail without His guiding light. But now I understand…for I have seen Him. Not working in supermarkets, not opening festivals or school fetes, but showing the way directly using force of good, as an idol to be rightfully worshipped. Our Lord, Elvis Aron Presley, has returned, and he is a Superhero.”
----
Thighmaster took a short, deep breath and tapped lightly on Spleen-Splitter’s bedroom door.
“Yes?” came the reply from inside.
The new leader of the Proctology opened the door with his free hand and walked as casually as he could inside. “I brought you some coffee. No milk and no sugar, just the way you like it?”
“Thank you,” replied the newest recruit to the team. “Just set it on the side, and I’ll drink it when I’m done.”
“Okay,” TM whispered and turned to leave before wondering what Spleen-Splitter was so busy with. “Just what are you doing?”
“Light meditation, it helps me relax before a big event.”
Thighmaster smiled in comprehension, “Well, I’ll let you get back to it then because you’ll need all your strength if we’re going to SMASH MANMAN INTO A MILLION PIECES AND DANCE UPON FRAGMENTED REMAINS!…Right, I’ll…uh…let you get back to it,” the arch villain repeated and left.
“Someone needs decaf,” muttered his minion as TM left.
----
In his own room, Thighmaster sat at his dressing table, picked out his best moustache comb and began preening his upper lip in the mirror, looking for maximum pointyness at the ends. Sir…Can you hear me?
“Yes, I can hear you fine Browning…” TM answered, still brushing.
Aren’t you surprised? the phantom voice asked, slightly perplexed.
Thighmaster stopped what he was doing, the fact that his long-lost butler/companion had returned slowly sank in. “Browning?!?” he exclaimed. “Where are you?!?”
In here, the butler replied, despair in the answer.
“You’re hiding?!? Well, I’ll find you…” His master beamed and started to search his room. “Do you know I’ve had to make my OWN dinners? (not in the dresser…) Wash my own socks? It’s been a living nightmare…But you’re back! (or in the wardrobe…) Praise the almighty!…” he paused. “Where are you again?”
In here, the butler repeated and Thighmaster could here a little knocking on the inside of his brain. I’m in you.
----
Ned Bailor, AKA Pudu Lad stood at the entrance to his brother’s home, a white semi-detached in the suburbs of Las Vegas. “4283,” he mouthed to himself, checking the number on the door for the third time. “This is the place Ned, now just knock on the door and ask to see Shaun, if he doesn’t let you in at least you know. Yeah…You’ll know that the only people you can rely on are an undead horse, a Starfish, a guy who keeps telling himself to live and a guy who still belongs to a dangerous super villain team.” His own pessimism made him laugh. “Just knock on the door will’ya?” His inner monologue continued, Ned took a deep breath and knocked.
There was a pause. Ned felt like running.
The idea that Shaun might not be home slipped into the teenagers mind, a mixture of relief and disappointment accompanied it.
"Hello?" came a female voice from behind the door.
Ned's heart jumped into his throat. "Hi...uh...is Shaun Bailor home?"
"I'll just get him," answered the voice.
There was another pause. Ned's body held a democratic election - and after several recounts - he stayed in front of the door.
The door opened, his big brother stood in it's frame. "Hello," greeted the man.
"Shaun? It's me...." Ned began. "It's....It's Ned."
"Ned! Oh my God!" huge arms swarmed around the teenager. "I can't believe it! I thought you were dead or something!"
"Will be....in a....moment," replied Ned, smothered.
Shaun laughed and pushed his little brother away. "I can't believe it! How did you..? Never mind! Come on in...Meet my family."
----
Stacy gave Joe her best pouty look. "We've been 'on the road' for what seems like years," she moaned. "Can't we go out, have a little fun?"
Joe was suspicious. "What kind of fun...?"
"The fun that involves fun, you idiot!" Knifey spat.
"Hm...." ManMan began. "Have you noticed though, that everywhere we go to 'have fun' turns out to be some lengthy trial where, ultimately, I get part of my ass handed back to me before I, somehow, manage to defeat whatever's trying to kill me in the first place?"
Knifey thought about this a for a moment. "You have one of those faces."
Joe sighed and gave up. "Okay....Where do you want to go and what do you want to do?"
Stacy beamed. "The Ballroom Hall. Downstairs. Dancing."
"Ha! Joe, dancing? It'd be like watching a whale trying to beach itself," Knifey snorted.
“Actually,” Stacy began with a wicked smile. “Joe knows how to Ballroom dance...”
The Elvis-Impersonator grimaced and hid his face, shaking his head. “No no no no, don’t tell him!”
“Whoa!” cried an excited Knifey, this sort of ammo could last for months. “When? And how good is he?”
“Very good,” replied Stacy. “We won the Quickstep state finals before he had his little ‘accident’.”
“I was doing it to impress you!” explained Joe, he turned to Knifey. “And you....If you say anything, I’ll wrap you up in cello-tape and throw you in a river.”
“Now Joe....” replied his blade. “Would I really use something like that just to make you feel small?”
There was silence.
Stacy pulled Joe toward the door. “Let’s go then, partner....See you later Knifey!”
Knifey snickered. “Seeya Fred, seeya Ginger!”
----
“Ah first met The Reverend about 5 years ago and ah was in a pretty low place. Ah’d been drinking heavily and uh....fornicatin’ with many women, mah faith in anything bigger than mahself had long gone. Anyways, ah...uh...met The Reverend by complete accident, ah was comin’ outta a bar when he took me to one side and started explainin’ why things had gone wrong. Because Elvis had died. Ah mistook him fer a fool...huh...but he showed me the way back to mah faith. Back to Elvis.”
The congregation applauded. Which spurred the man on.
“And Elvis is back! He’s here to show us the way! Why don’t we go show him that we are ready to be shown!”
----
Joe span Stacy in a Quickstep Natural Pivot Turn before pausing with the Foward Lock then repeating the Natural Pivot Turn. “Do you know how hard it is to dance in a leather jumpsuit?” he asked her as they flowed across the dance floor, people watching from the side.
“About as hard as it is dance in cowboy boots?” she replied, referring to her own footwear.
They laughed and continued dancing.
“Oooh that’s something I never wanted to see....” winced spiffy as he and Nats entered the Ballroom hall.
“Oh God!” Joe yelped. “spiffy and Nats are here!....They’re coming over!” They stopped as the pair arrived.
“Hey Joe...” spiffy began.
“Hey Joe...” Nats repeated, both were snickering.
“Not. A. Word,” Joe ordered.
“Believe me, I'm already repressing,” spiffy assured him.
“Why are you here, anyway?” asked Stacy. “Wanna dance?”
“No!” spiffy replied, too loudly. “I mean, no thank you. Knifey told me you’d be here, though I think you should come back up to the hotel room.”
“What is it?” enquired Joe.
“It’s better just to show you,” explained Nats.
----
“Okay....We’re here. What is it?” asked the Elvis-Impersonator.
“Do you hear that? Where’s that coming from?” Stacy wondered.
“Try out on the balcony....” suggested Nats.
Stacy opened the doors leading outside and a blast of noise hit her, screams and shouts and chants and moans that invaded the hotel suite. “Oh....my...God,” she managed to get out.
“What is it?” asked Joe, before he went out to the balcony.
A huge roar erupted from thousands of people, all waiting below the balcony of ManMan. A loudspeaker was heard over the general din. As you see My Lord, we are ready! Teach us the way!
“Uh....What’s this?” Joe asked, turning back into the room.
Knifey sighed. “They’re think you’re God, twinkle-toes.”
Next - The conclusion! Coming....This week!
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