Title: Optional

Text: You sick, sons of bitches. I mean you walk in that door, on your two legs... all fat and cocky and lookin at me in my chair. And you tell me its all in my head? I hope that both of you have sons... Handsome, beautiful, articulate sons, who are talented and star athletes and they have their legs taken away. I mean I pray you know that pain and that hurt. Each paragraph will be a test.

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