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“MONGO! I have come with an upgrade. Say ahh.”
From the clouds, a lightning bolt struck Mongo’s cantilevered forehead. His mouth flew open to receive the patch.
“No more spam.”
“That’s what you said in 2016.”
“YOU’RE MAKING ME ANGRY!”
Mongo wet his loin cloth, simultaneously inventing religion.
“Your son, Melvin, will start his own clan in Thousand Oaks, inventing the wheel and making war on others based on skin color. The wheel and war will catch on.”
“Always MELVIN. What about ME?”
Silence, then darkness fell; it was the Beginning of the Last Day.
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