i thought i smelt bad on the outside! now with this insufferable goon solo hacking my insides away only to reveal this succubus (this blonde boy tintin i will revise the absolute truth of that observation - phew! not a good start i'll say - & how he'll go on to blow up the death star (well that's anybody's guess ... whistle, snow-soaked winds! hoth will turn my jellied intestines to marble or glacial glass ... within its arctic embrace this taun-taun lies in stasis waiting for jabba's blowtorch to thaw my ice-ripened scheme (yes his daring shall be the subject of works by post-soviet sculptors in a primeval soup version of the earth (should its release date ever come to the attention of the censors ... they're everywhere here you know even these snowy wastes i call home (i'm sorry did i mention milou? inside my cave grave i am a sole tear whose trajectory is the radiance of my native field (but he will melt into being inside their mini-planets from which the evil below has been systematically eradicated armed only with a snow-pistol & a drunken step - tintin sensationally defeats the empire! pausing only to scream as he destroys what might once have been his dead dog.
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