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Where The Spirits Dwell
Donny: Put out a hit on you, probably. In the past. Because he's that good. And while you're busy slamming that hitman's skull, I'll come up behind you and fireball the back of your face in. You smell that? It's burning hair. Your burning hair. - No love, Fox.

First off, I don’t believe for gaddamn second that you and your little bitch got half the smarts it’d take to pull of some HG Wells shit like that.

Second, you wanna try sneakin’ up on me?  A’right, fucker, it’s your funeral.

Third, you touch my fucking hair and I’ll skin you with my bare hands.  My lieutenant’s gonna wear your scalp ‘round his belt and my niece an’ nephew’ll wipe their feet on your dirty, little fox pelt ‘fore comin’ into the house.