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Shat: Yeah, you think you're hot shit now, kid. But your life is about to end, son. Say hello to thirty years of signing autographs for pimple-faced freaks...
Pine: Out of the chair, old man.
Shat: Ten minutes?
Pine: Now.
Shat: Oh, allright. But tell me: do they make you shave your chest? It's a bitch growing back. All itchy.
Pine: I don't want to talk about it.
Shat: (smiles)
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