"That's my daughter, the baker. She gets up every morning to bake bread and mince pies and croissants for the ungrateful people of this town, and one day there'll be a reckoning. I'm not saying i'm going to slip the blood of a rabid dog into the croissants and turn you all into a bunch of rabid fleash eating cannibals, but somehow, you're going to get what's coming to you, you filthy ingrates". My daughter looked on in horror as I continued to berate her customers, who shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot and tried to stare anywhere but at the spittle foaming out of my mouth.
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