I don't care what Aeryn says. You certainly look dead to me. I don't know your customs for these situations, not that I care. So I'll give you the Hynerian Ceremony of Passage. John Crichton, valued friend. Now wait a minute. Valued friend's a bit of a stretch. John Crichton, unwelcome shipmate. May you have safe transport to the hallowed realm. Actually, not our hallowed realm. That's for Hynerians. Go find your own hallowed realm. With the Ceremony of Passage completed, I declare you officially dead, and claim all your possessions for myself.
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We stopped eating meat many years ago. During the course of a Sunday lunch we happened to look out of the kitchen window at our young lambs playing happily in the fields. Glancing down at our plates, we suddenly realized that we were eating the leg of an animal who had until recently been playing in a field herself. We looked at each other and said, 'Wait a minute, we love these sheep--they're such gentle creatures. So why are we eating them?' It was the last time we ever did.
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The first pitch to Tucker Ashford is grounded into left field. No, wait a minute. It's ball one. Low and outside.
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