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"The Pope is remiss," cried the herald, "and he has brought out the nine iron."
With bated breath the chorus waited for a divine sign, a symbol of faith honored since the days of Christ. There was a sound of something flying through air, a thud, and a muffled curse. The herald ran back to them, panting at the excursion of it all.
"The Pope is treemiss," cried the herald, "the fucker couldn't even hit a tree!"
Much laughter was had by the chorus and one fell unconscious, the force of his laughter causing him to void his bladder in a hot, steamy and putrid mess.
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