Bra-fuckin'-vo, all--
--s'nice ta see ya all workin' out yer little problems. I've always been a firm believa' that most issues can be solved with a slap ta th' mouth er two. S'healthy. Good fer ya.
Fuckin'...therapeutic.
That bein' said--I am a doctor. An' I am currently acceptin' patients. An' whass even better than that:
I don' like the lot
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Frankie.
How predictable o' ya.
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[Glower. Glower. Glooowwweeerr. And then a smirk.]
'Course, I've always room fer an assistant, if yer interested.
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[He smirks and regards the camera, taking another drink.]
Ya look fairly unscathed, mate. That mean yer not winnin' any popularity contests?
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Don't fuckin' need friends. Just accomplices.
[It's a bold faced lie, too. He's purposely been keeping himself from making a call to Droog or Boxcars because he knows how poorly it'll end.]
What about you? Bet you're not exactly the most popular fucker in the world here or where you're from, huh?
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[Worth chuckles under his breath.]
'Scuse you. Could be the fuckin' prom queen, where I'm from. Besides, like I said--this is how I solve my problems already, so s'really business as usual, on my end.
Gotta name, then? An' a...species?
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