Oh, yeah, Hugh. Well, he's my best friend since that time the Marines fished my drunk ass out of the attic of that shipping magnate's Westchester mansion. We were on this trip to Australia last month - he's big about friends and family being in close contact - when we were shot down by secret KGB helicopters. They took us to Moscow and fed us gallons of borscht (I would like to never eat a beet again in my life, thank you) and made us watch 1960s propaganda films about farming and paperwork being essential to the USSR's grasp on civilisation.
So we joined up, and Putin made us honorary KGB agents, even though the KGB doesn't really exist any more, and Hugh showed them all how to sprout big claws from their hands and then we had an enormous tickertape parade. I was bewildered, because... seriously? Tickertape?
But we've been home for a couple of weeks, and I guess the rumours on the internet are pretty persistent, but honestly, I never did kill that guy, and Hugh says he saw him on Broadway last week anyway.
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So we joined up, and Putin made us honorary KGB agents, even though the KGB doesn't really exist any more, and Hugh showed them all how to sprout big claws from their hands and then we had an enormous tickertape parade. I was bewildered, because... seriously? Tickertape?
But we've been home for a couple of weeks, and I guess the rumours on the internet are pretty persistent, but honestly, I never did kill that guy, and Hugh says he saw him on Broadway last week anyway.
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