We haven't got enough mud. I'm thirty-seven. I'm not old. Tell us! Tell us! Well, when's your next round? It's only a model. 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. 'Course it's a good idea! Behold! Umm!
He was not afraid to die, O brave Sir Robin Arthur! Arthur, King of the Britons! My liege! I would be honored. Yeah! We haven't got enough mud. I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Oh, there you go bringing class into it again.
Eh. You are indeed brave, Sir Knight, but the fight is mine. Good Sir Knight, will you come with me to Camelot and join us at the Round Table? Well, on second thought, let's not go to Camelot. It is a silly place. Why? Aaaagh! Hah! I'm not dead! Then you shall die. Bravest of the brave, Sir Robin. Does wood sink in water?
Does wood sink in water? My liege! I would be honored. Arthur! Arthur, King of the Britons! Oh? All right, we'll call it a draw. Be quiet! I order you to be quiet! I told you. We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week,...
Do they hurt? Now look here, my good man...
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