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What’s wrong with him is not what I’m hopeful for. What I’m hopeful for is what Douglas Adams once suggested happened to the second-worst poet in the universe:
his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.
What’s wrong with him is not what I’m hopeful for. What I’m hopeful for is what Douglas Adams once suggested happened to the second-worst poet in the universe: