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"I make it so the pain doesn't matter."

Every time I think Hannibal Lecter can't possibly make me think any worse of him, he goes and proves me wrong. It's not supposed to be a competition you utter fucking be-suited DISTILLED ESSENCE OF DICKHAT. I can't muster up any literary monologuing because of how much I just want him to die.

Although, man, Chilton is going to feel like suuuuch a dumbass in maybe a couple of months. Probably not proportional to his actual level of dumbassery, which has its own gravity well and distorts the light of distant stars, but every bit helps. I also want to kick Will in the groin a little, but honestly, I don't think anything I could do would possibly be worse than what he'll feel when he finds out.

Man. Anyway, the distressed wailing can be traced in my direction, if that was confusing you. Sorry.

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