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I like your boots.

“Real wampa.”

You’re dressed for many climates.

“My wardrobe is vast; it contains multitudes.”

Where does freedom end?

“In the littorals by the river, where the marsh stinks and the fen sucks shoes off feet. In the fields beyond are Absalom, where fear is the tribute of their gods.”

So freedom is to be found here, and here alone?

“Yes, until your stomach takes it from you.”

All fascism stems from the gut?

“Hunger is the first and true tyrant.”

But there is still choice.

“When it comes to hunger? Choice is death.”

How sandy are your genitals?

“Like they were playing the female lead in Grease.”

I don’t love you, but I could fake it real good.

“It’s Burning Man: we’re all faking it.”

Shall we hump publicly?

“Sure. Just let me tell the Romulus and Remus of Black Rock.”

Huh?

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“WE ARE THE LIVING SPIRIT OF BURNING MAN!”

“CAN WE HITCH A RIDE HOME IN YOUR PLANE?”

I need to stop going to these things.