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Job: All the things from you sound the same.
        You are all terrible as comforters!
    Have we reached the end of your windy words,
        or are you sick with something that compels you to argue with me?
    If we were to trade places,
        I could rattle on as you do.
    I could compose eloquent speeches as you do
        and shake my head smugly at you and your problems.

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