He hasn't got shit all over him. Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken, to have his kneecaps split and his body burned away And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin!
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It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England! I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. No, I've got to go to the Robinsons'. They've lost nine today. So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of Mercia, through... Oh, shut up. The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. What?