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The figure of an enormous man, taller than a house, stands before you.
His dark, Saturnalian features glare balefully down on you.
Robert Greene mutters darkly,
“Turn Off The Internet.”
“The internet? That cannot be switched off," you reply
Robert twists his body into a contorted fetal crouch,
“Oysters Open Completely When The Moon Is Full” he breathes.
You stare at the writhing madman when a disembodied voice suddenly crackles into life, “Its breaking up again” it stutters.
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