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Put up your dukes. You're 10 counts from Hell.
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You traitor. Time to pay the fiddler!
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The tyrant Geese seems to have flown South. Heh, heh.
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Oh, I say, fight, anyone?
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To the archives with you, my foolish friend.
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Bust you up!
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My punch is steel. My face is not. Ouch!
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From today just call me no.1. Sweet Buns is fine, too.
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If it's a fight, I'm available any time, anywhere.
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