This is from during my "blue period," mid-1996, when Dole was running against Clinton
 and Ralph Reed had a pretty firm grip on the Republican party. Watch for a special guest
 appearance by the Jesus twins, Steve largent and Tom Coburn.  One more thing - this was
 6-7 years ago, when the old RL-LNW newsletter was just read by a few dozen people

Poker at Al's

Every now and then, GOP powerbrokers get together with bag men from Big Cancer
and the NRA for a heavy cash exchange weakly disguised as a friendly game of poker.

Rush: Hey, guys, look who I brought! Justice Thomas!

Clarence Thomas: No need to be so formal. Call me Stymie.

Al D'Amato: Hi, Stymie.

Sonny Bono: Glad to meet you, Stymie.

Bob Dornan: Are you from Mexico? I'm not going to play poker with
some goddamn jumping bean. Did you vote for Sanchez?

Jesse Helms: I thought this game was whites only.

D'Amato: It's my clubhouse and Stymie can stay.

Helms: Well, I'll go. I'm late for a door-blocking, anyway.

Rush: First game is seven card stud - nothing wild.
Who didn't ante?

All: D'Amato!

Rush: Fonz, you cheatin' bastard, ante up.

Dan Quayle: Dittos on seven card stud, Rush.

Dornan: Stymie, last time I saw you, you were wearing a dress.

Thomas: You see, Rush? You See? People remember.
Why I always gotta wear the dress?
I'm a Supreme Court judge.
Why I always gotta wear the dress?

Rush: Where's the food?

Quayle: Dittos on the food.

Rush: Knock off the dittos, Numbnuts.

Quayle: Dittos on the Knock offs.

Rush: Where's the goddamn food?

Dornan: Behind your fat ass, Moby! You almost knocked
the dip off the table with your pilodinal cyst.

D'Amato: What in the world are we going to do?
Our party is in a world of hurt. We need somebody
who can fight back, get us back in the White House.

Bono: Bob, who do you like in 2000?

Dornan: Hell, I'd go with Rush.

D'Amato: He didn't mean as a bed partner, moron.

Dornan: I'm on my last nerve with you, Olive Oyl!

Rush: Stymie, pass those potato chips.

Thomas: Yowza, Massa.

Bono: Rush, have you been losing weight?

Rush: Yeah, almost 15 pounds. I did it with hypnosis.

Quayle: Hypnosis? Really?  Show me! Show me!

Rush: I don't WANT to show you, so don't ask. Let's play cards.

Quayle: Please! Please! Please!

Rush: No, I'm not going to show you, so stop whining.

Quayle: Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!

Rush: OK, OK. OK. Just stop whining!!

(One minute later.)

Rush: Go ahead, boy. Tell them your name.

Quayle: (very seriously) ..I'm Batman!

All: (Howls of laughter)

Quayle: I must get to the BatCave at once!

Rush: Batman, you have your custume under your clothes? Show us your costume.
(Danny starts removing clothes.)

Bono: C'mon, Rush. Knock it off. He was Vice President!

Rush: Is that true, son? Were you once the Vice President?

Quayle: I'm Batman! I fight evildoers!

D'Amato: That's enough Rush. What if you can't bring him back?

Rush: Well, ....crime would drop... (Laughs)

D'Amato: For the love of fuck, Rush. Give Danny his mind back.

Rush: Why? What could they charge me with? Petty theft? (Laughs)
OK, OK... Wake up, Danny.

Quayle: ...Please! Please! Show me some hypnosis!

Rush: Make him stop or he's Batman forever.

Dornan: Stop being such a shithead, Danny.

D'Amato: So, what will we do with four more years of Clinton?
I'm not looking forward to my next senate race.
Maybe we'll have a decent candidate next time.

Dornan: That fucking dirty yellow coward bastard Clinton!
He gets away with everything! Billyboy Clinton is like James Bond.
No matter how thick it gets, he ends up in the raft with the girl and a bottle of Dom Perignon.

Rush: Hey, that's pretty good. Did you write that?

Dornan: ...Sure..yeah, I wrote that...yeah...

Rush: Stymie, get me more potato chips!

Stymie: Potato chips? Yes, Massa.

Quayle: Ooh! Let me try again. ..P....O...

D'Amato: So far, so good.

Quayle: ..T...

Bela: You can DO it, Danny!

Quayle: ..A...

Dornan: Little bastard might get it this time.

Quayle: ..T...

All: Go, Danny, Go!

Quayle: ..O...

All: (Loud Cheers)

Quayle: ..E!

All: (Groans..)

Rush: Can we please just play some poker?

  Poker at Al's

Every now and then, GOP powerbrokers get together with bag men
from Big Cancer and the NRA to play a friendly little game of poker.

Rush: Hey, guys. Look who's back!

Pat Buchanan: Stymie, what are you doing here?
I heard you lost $60,000 last week.
Jesus, that's really stupid, even for a ni......that's really stupid.

Clarence Thomas: Maybe Kweisi Mfume put a Voodoo curse on me. I'll do better tonight.

Bob Dornan: Excuse me, Mr. Thomas. Do you sing or dance?

Thomas: Why, no. I can't sing and I'm a rather clumsy dancer. Why do you ask?

Dornan: I heard the Village People hired "a Conductor,"
and there's something about the way you move...

D'Amato: I have an idea...
Since Stymie lost so much last week,
Let's let him sit in the Magic Chair.

Thomas: The Magic Chair?

D'Amato: Yes, this chair over here..

Thomas: The one surrounded by mirrors?

D'Amato: Yep, that's the lucky chair.

Thomas: Golly... Thanks guys. You like me..  You really like me.

Rush: Fonz, you shameless whore.

D'Amato: Wait! Let me get this straight:
You... YOU, Rush Limba, are calling ME a whore?

Quayle: I don't get it...

Buchanan: Knock it off, you three. Don't start fighting again.
Anybody got any jokes this week?

Thomas: I heard a funny joke.  Knock-Knock!

Quayle: I'll get it!!

Thomas: Sit down, fool.  Knock-Knock!

Quayle: I'm COMING!

Buchanan: Stymie, you can't do Knock-Knock jokes here.
It confuses the Vice President...

Dornan: Hell, I heard a pretty good joke.
What do you call two lesbians in a canoe?
Give up?

Fur traders!!

...why isn't anybody laughing?

Rush: Let's play some poker.
The pot's not right. Who didn't ante?

All: D'Amato!!

Rush: Where are the pota....
I mean... Where are the corn chips?

Quayle: Oooh! Another chance!
Let me try to spell corn.

Dornan: Here we go again.

Quayle: ...C.... E..

McLaughlin: WRONG!!!

Quayle: I feel like such a tool...

Thomas: Excuse me, Master Rush. I was interested in hyp...hyp...

Rush: It's hypnosis, Slappy.

Thomas: Hyp-MOsis...hyp-MOsis...

Rush: No... it's hypnosis.

Thomas: Hyp-MOsis.

Rush: (sigh) Close enough.

Thomas: I know you've lost some weight lately, and I'd like
to see if your hyp-Mosis could help me, too.  Would you hyp-MOtise me?

Rush: Well.. you gotta to be smarter than Dan Quayle.

Quayle: I don't get it.

Rush:  OK, let's try to concentrate...
Stare into my eyes - look deep...deep into my eyes.

Thomas: You have lovely eyes.

Rush: Later...
You're getting drowsy... your mind is afloat.

Thomas: My mind is a what?

Rush: Tell me, what are you thinking?

Thomas: I.... I've never met Mr. Quayle before.
He seems quite the gentleman.  Is...Dan Quayle gay?

Rush: Why do you ask?

Thomas: He seems to prefer the company of men.

Rush: Who doesn't?

Thomas: Is it true that Mrs. Quayle is a lesbian?

Rush: Worse - she's a smart woman.
Now, be very quiet and relax.
Listen to the sound of my voice and concentrate on
a shiny object in the room. Have you found an object?

Thomas: Yes. I'm staring at the award D'Amato just got
from the Swiss Government - the 330 carat diamond.

Rush: You're getting very sleepy.

Thomas: listening to your show...

Rush:'ll pay for that one. Yes you will, Slappy.
When I count to three, you'll be awake and refreshed.

One.... two.....THREE!

Thomas: Hey, Rush. Can you hyp-MOtize me?

Rush: You dolt! The word is hypnotize.
Say it!

Thomas: ...hyp-MOtize.

Rush: God, I wish I was a Democrat....

Quayle: I don't get it.

Rush: OK, Stymie, listen to the sound of my voice.
When I snap my fingers, you'll become a pirate. Understand?
You're a PIRATE from the goddamn Carribean.
You have an eyepatch on your left eye, and a parrot on your right shoulder!


Thomas: AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! Prepare to walk the plank, matey.

Buchanan: I'll be go-to-hell.  Look at that son-of-a-bitch go.

D'Amato: For the love of fuck!  Rush, you're a genius!

Rush: Talent on loan from God.


Rush: You can fucking STOP now, Slappy!
....Oh..... The silence feels good....

Listen to my voice, Slappy.
Now, you're a singing teapot.


Thomas: (singing) I'm a little teapot - short and stout.
Here is my handle, here is my spout.

D'Amato: Rush, goddamn, this is awful, but it's hilarious.
How can you do it so easily?

Rush: Ain't nothing to it...
It seems the more stupid a person is, the easier it is to hynotise them.

D'Amato: Oh, that explains your stranglehold on Quayle.

Quayle: I don't get it.

Rush: Now, you're a black man.

Quayle: But, Rush. He's already..

D'Amato: Shut up, Dillhole!

Quayle: Dillhole?
Mr. D'Amato, you're 64 years old. Dillhole?

D'Amato: Ok, then. Shut up, Dickhead. Feel better?


D'Amato: What the hell is that commotion at the door?



What do the robbers want?


Or something infinitely more ...horrible?

Tune in RL-LNW next week
- Same fat-time,
- Same fat-channel

Poker at Al's

Every now and then, GOP powerbrokers get together with bag men
from Big Cancer and the NRA to play a friendly little game of poker.
When we last left our heroes, they'd gotten a surprise.

D'Amato: What the hell is that commotion at the door?

Masked Gunman: Allright Mother-stickers! This is a FUCK-Up!!!

Second Gunman: We mean business. Stay calm and follow orders and nobody gets hurt. Understand?

First Gunman: EVERYBODY! Sit close to the table and put your hands palms up where I can see them.

D'Amato: Excuse me, Gentlemen, ...but I'm protected, so I don't think you want to...

First Gunman: Shut up, Baldy, or I'll shut you up hard!

Quayle: I'm a-scared.

Rush: Oh, great! Quayle just shit his pants.

Quayle: Did not! Did not!

First Gunman: QUIET! Ok, now, everybody hold perfectly still...
(He speaks into a cell phone.)  Yes, Sir...yes Sir, Mr. Reed.  All is secure.

D'Amato: Oh, no... Oh, no... Omigod, omigod...

Rush: Fonz, you know this Mr. Reed?

(First Gunman opens the door and in walks...

...Ralph Reed.

Buchanan: Ralphie, Baby! What's going on? Why the goons?


Dornan: Ralph, why the silent treatment? Talk to us, buddy!


Rush: Ralph, is there...

Second Gunman: STAY SEATED!

Reed: You can take off your masks, boys.

Steve Largent: Whew! It was getting hot under there.

Tom Coburn: Praise Jesus Christ.

Rush: What are the Jesus Twins doing here?

Reed: Gentlemen.........we have a problem.

D'Amato: Oh, God... Omigod, omigod...

Reed: Yes, gentlemen, we have a small problem. (slowly circling the table)
As you know, I've spent many years and many millions of dollars building my party into a powerhouse.

Rush: Your party? Since when di..

(Largent smacks his Glock into the side of Rush's head.)

Rush: OW! That hurt!

Quayle: I'm a-scared.

Reed: (Still circling the table)
Gentlemen, most of you have been good for me... But, I must tell you,
I am ...somewhat disappointed. There's a traitor at this table.

D'Amato: Omigod.. omigod...

Reed: Gentlemen, there's a man at this table who was given a very simple job:
To chair a committee that would pin some crimes on the current President.
BUT... it seems this man had other ideas.

D'Amato: Please, please let me explain...
I never, EVER...

(Coburn smacks his Sig into D'Amato's head)

D'Amato: OW!

Reed: Gentlemen, there's a man at this table who made sure that Bob Dole would win
the New York primary without letting other, more qualified Republicans on the ticket.

There's a man at this table who diverted a huge pile of cash from his campaign fund to promote
that stupid, goddamn environmental bond issue here in New York - against my expressed wishes.

There's a man at this table who accused House Republicans, ....MY House Republicans...
of "scaring Americans" with their right-wing agenda. There's a man at this table who described
my boy Dick Armey as "a big bag of wind." That one hurt me - deeeeep.

(still circling...)

There's a man at this table who called Bill Clinton's recent State of the Union speech "right on the mark."
I don't think a loyal member of Ralph Reed's army would do that. Do you?

There's a man at this table who's loyalty was questioned by none other than the National Review,
and you know what? I don't LIKE being embarrassed in MY newspaper.

There's a man at this table who has made me angry, and I don't like to be angry. I like being nice.
I prefer nice. I like old fashioned things, like loyalty. Loyalty is good. I also like apple pie.
Tell me Senator D'Amato, do you like apple pie?

D'Amato: Please, Mr. Reed. Please try to understand... I'm dying in the polls, I'm... I'm...

Reed: I'm sorry - you're doing what at the polls?

D'Amato: I'm... I'm...

Reed: Say it!

D'Amato: (crying) Please, Mr. Reed, please give me another chance.

Reed: SAY IT, Al. What are you doing at the polls?

D'Amato: (Weeping uncontrollably) I'm dy...dying

Reed: Senator, do you like apple pie?

D'Amato: Yes... yes... I guess so...

Reed: And tell me, Senator. Do you like Chevrolets?

D'Amato: Uh-Huh...(sniff)

Reed: Tell me, MISTER D'Amato, do you like baseball?

I KNOW you like baseball. Look here, in the corner.
I see a baseball glove and a bat and a baseball.
Are these yours, MISTER D'Amato? You like baseball?

D'Amato: Please, Ralph, plea...


Quayle: I'm a-scared.

Reed: I asked you a question, Fonz. You like baseball?
(Reed picks up the baseball bat and slaps the "sweet spot" into the palm of his left hand)
How long are you going to make me wait for an answer?

D'Amato: Yes, Sir. I like baseball (sniff)

Reed: (Still circling the table, he stops behind D'Amato and whispers to him)
            Do you want to play some ball, Al?

D'Amato: Mr. Reed, please. I'm sure we can work this out.

Reed: One last thing. What's your position on abortion, Al?

D'Amato: Fuck those women!! They don't deserve any rights.
                 I've seen the error of my ways, Sir.  As of today, I'm pro-life - for SURE!!

Reed: You see, Al?
           You have no loyalty, Al.
           You're a goddamn, disloyal, sell-out bastard.

D'Amato: Yes, yes, yes. It's true. I'm no fucking good.

Reed: I can make the pain go away, Al.

D'Amato: Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.

(Reed takes the bat in his right hand, raises it high above his
head and pulls down with all his might on D'Amato's head.)









(A river of blood runs out of Senator D'Amato's head onto the pressed, white linen of the poker tabletop.)


Largeant: I think you can stop now, Sir.


Reed: Well, now...Gentlemen... Does anyone have a problem
            with the action I had to take today?

Rush: No, Sir.

Buchanan: No, Sir.

Dornan: No, Sir.

Quayle: (whimpering) No, Mister Reed.

Slappy: I ain't cleaning this up...

Reed: I don't like it when my sheep disobey.

All: Yes, Mister Reed.

Reed: A warning to the rest of you. This is MY party.
            I... I am the Republican Party - understand?

All: Yes, Mister Reed.

Reed: The next traitor gets the same, along with his whole fucking family.

All: Yes, Mister Reed.

 Poker at Mushy's

Rush: Any change?

Buchanan: No change - he just sits there and drools.

Helms: He drools more than I do...

Rush: Is he responsive at all?

Buchanan: Well, he just says "Indian," but we don't know if "Indian" means "yes" or "no."
                   We have to learn more.

Rush: That's all he can say?

Helms: The doctor said his brain was damaged.
             The doctor says he's got the brain of Tori Spelling.

Rush: How badly was he hurt?

Buchanan: Well, his brain was without blood for ten minutes.

Quayle: I've had that.

Helms: They drilled holes in his brain to let it swell.

Quayle: I've had that.

Rush: So, what's the bottom line?

Helms: People with those injuries often lose their mind.


Rush: So, what do we do about Ralph Reed?
           Should we report this attack to the police?

Quayle: Nooooo! I'm a-scared.
              What if Mister Reed finds out?

Rush: But it's bound to come out. The doctors say D'Amato has
           the brain of Senator Jim Inhofe. (R-Bonehead)  People will notice.

Buchanan: How?

All: (Laughs)

Buchanan: I'm serious. When D'Amato goes blank on the floor of the Senate, nobody notices a thing.

Rush: Screw him, then.
           Blood under the bridge.
           Let's play poker.

D'Amato: ...Indian!

Quayle: He talked!

Slappy: Danny, you're smarter than D'Amato right now.

Quayle: What?

Helms: Hey, Stymie, how about a song?

Slappy: Excuse me?

Helms: How 'bout you singing "Mammy" for us?

Slappy: Hey, Fuck You, Helms, you racist prick!

Helms: Ooooooh... Look at Quota-boy, getting his back up!

Slappy: Who you calling Quota-boy?

Helms: I'm calling YOU that, shit-for-brains.
             You mean you think you got that appointment because you were qualified for the job?
             Ha ha.
             Stop it!

Slappy: This is a hi-tech lynching.

Helms: Hi-tech lynching? I said you had shit-for-brains. How is that hi-tech?

Rush: We need to relieve the tension in this room.

Quayle: I got a joke! I got a joke!!

Rush: Danny, your jokes always blow donkey.

Quayle: I'll have you know I toured the comedy circuit.

Rush: And you bombed out because your jokes aren't funny.

Quayle: This one is! This one is!

Buchanan: Let's give him another chance.

Quayle: OK, OK, ready?
              Are you ready for my funny joke?
              Are you ready?
              Are you ready?

Rush: TELL us the goddamn joke.

Quayle: What joke?

Rush: You moron, the joke you claim is funny!

Quayle: Oh, THAT one, OK.
              What do you call a dog with steel balls and no back legs?

Slappy: We give up.

Quayle: Sparky!

All: (groans)

Rush: See?
Your jokes are always terrible.

Slappy: I ain't cleaning this up.

Rush: Someone's at the door.

D'Amato: Indian!!!! .....Indian!!!!

Rush: Calm down, Fonz.
He's afraid it's the Jesus Twins and Ralph Reed, back to beat his fucking brains in again.
(peeking out)
It's OK, it's just B-1 Bob.
C'Mon in, B-1.

Dornan: Goddammit, I'm so fucking mad I could shit.

Buchanan: I've heard that about you.
                  What's with the parrot on your shoulder?

Dornan: That's why I'm so PISSED!

Slappy: You're pissed about a parrot on your shoulder?

Dornan: It's crazy - You won't believe it...
              Go ahead - ask the parrot a question about politics.

Helms: What?

Dornan: Ask the goddamn parrot a question about politics.

Rush: A question about politics?

Dornan: Yes, anything about politics.

Helms: I have a question for the parrot.
            Will Dan Quayle run for President in the year 2000?

Parrot: AwwwwwkkK! Quayle's a fucking moron - AwwwwwkkK!

All: (Laughs)

Rush: B-1, your parrot hates Spudboy? ..I..I mean Quayle?
          Why does he say that?

Dornan: I'll be go-to-fucking-hell if I know.

Slappy: Prettyboy, Prettyboy - I have a question:
             Will a black man ever be president of America?

Parrot: AwwwwwkkK! Stupid nigger, dumb nigger. AwwwwwkK!

Rush: Bob - you've got a problem, here. It's one thing
            to say that Dan Quayle's a fucking moron...

Quayle: Why?

Rush: But you can't have a parrot that uses the "N" word.

Dornan: It's not my fault. I just bought this parrot.
               The former owner said the parrot was a non-stop party!
               He said the parrot was the "perfect companion."

Buchanan: You just bought it, B-1?
                   Who sold you that parrot?

Dornan: Why, I got it from Rep. Armey.

Rush: Dick, the Foul-Mouthed Texan?
           No wonder.
           He's farther to the right than Senator Helms, here.

Helms: I'll have to agree. Armey is so far right, at the IHOP he eats nothing but Luftwaffles.

D'Amato: Indian!!!

Rush: B-1, I think I should be frank with you...

Parrot: AwwwwwkkK! Barney Frank, stupid fag, Barney fag.

Buchanan: B-1, may want to have that parrot for dinner.

Dornan: Eat the parrot? That's not fair.
               It's not the parrot's fault.   He....he came from a bad home!

All: (laughs)

Dornan: The parrot only did what came naturally to him,
               because of the factors of his environment. It's not his fault!

Slappy: How is the parrot with your wife and other women?

Parrot: AwwkkK! Women bitch, stupid bitch... AawwwwkK!

Dornan: ...not very well... You have a point, Rush.

Parrot: AwwwkkK! Lying, Nazi Whore! Nazi Whore! AwwwkkK!

Rush: That's one dead bird.

Helms: That racist parrot has to be executed.

Slappy: That sounds funny, coming from YOU, Caveman.

Helms: Huh? You want some of me, boy?

Slappy: Who you calling "Boy," Grandpa?

Helms: Who YOU calling "Grandpa," boy?

Dornan: Can we get back to the parrot?
             What should I do?
              He's a cute and colorful son-of-a-bitch. ..and it's not his fault!

Rush: Bob, look at your situation:
           You bought a parrot from Dick, the Foul-Mouthed Texan.
           If a reporter hears that bird talk, the Republican Party could undergo great harm.

Quayle: How?

Rush: Shut up, Quayle. We don't need to hear from a moron.

Parrot: AwwwwkkK! Quayle's a fucking moron! Quayle's a moron.

Quayle: I oughta kill that damn parrot.

Slappy: You up for a big fight like that?

Quayle: Oh, listen to Quotaboy... the "qualfied negro.."

Slappy: I'm smart enough to spell potato, white bread...

Quayle: I may be dumber than spoiled meat, but you never saw me in a bright red dress
              and a yellow sombrero with dingleballs hanging from it, Clarence!

All: OOOooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

Parrot: AwwkkK! Dumb nigger, dumb nigger. AwwwwkkK!

Slappy: I agree with the moron.
             That bird must die!

Dornan: It's not the bird's fault!
               Dick the Foul-Mouthed Texan is to blame!

Rush: B-1, you sound like a liberal.

Parrot: AwwwkkK! Liberal devils, destroy, destroy. AwwwwkkK!

Dornan: The parrot's crime is learning what he was taught?
               How can it be the parrot's fault?

Buchanan: As arguments go, that's VERY poor.

Parrot: AwwwkkK! Fuck the poor! Fuck the poor! AwwkkK!

Rush: That's it. The bird's gotta go.
           We're in enough trouble with women and minorities...

Dornan: I'm the only military man in this goddamn room!!!
              All you other faggots were too yellow to fight!!!
              ...and you call yourselves Republicans?

Parrot: AwwwkkK! Cowardly Yellow Republicans, AaaaakkK!

Odd, Echo-Voice: "~~~stop fighting~~" "~~stop fighting~~"
. . .

Slappy: Danny, you're...

Quayle: What the....

D'Amato: Indian!! Indian!!

Odd, Echo-Voice: "~~~stop fighting~~" "~~stop fighting~~"

Buchanan: What the hell is that?

Helms: Why.. It sounds like...
             What the -- .......
              Praise to God and Jefferson Davis.

Odd, Echo-Voice: "~~~stop fighting~~" "~~stop fighting~~"

Rush: Is that what...
           Is that WHO I think it is?

Helms: It's him.

Buchanan: Is it...
                   Is it.... ... you, Sir?

Nixon: "~~~Yes~~It's me~~~"

Rush: Raise my taxes!
           Raise 'em as fucking high as you want.

Buchanan: But...but... I..

Quayle: First time I ever saw Buchanan speechless.

Slappy: Spudboy, do you even know who that is?

Quayle: Sure, it's Richard Nixon.
              So what?

Parrot: AwwwkkK! Trickey Dick, crooked Dick AwwwkkkK!

Slappy: Nixon's dead, moron.

Quayle: ...and..?
               OH! OH! OH!
               That's creepy!
               That's creepy!
               I'm A-scared!

Buchanan: Sir, how.. wha.. why are you here?

Nixon: We've got work to do for 2000.
             I'm baaaaaaack!

Next issue: Rush hyp-MO-tizes the Parrot!

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