The British spy was excited. He had just been
issued his very own 3-D television for official communicate with the Queen’s
secret service. While official missions were the mandated use of device the spy
so no reason why he couldn’t use the TV for a little cricket – after all, a
little relaxation could help him on the job. As the set turned on he saw the
stick jut out towards him in three dimensional brilliance. Then it flew towards
his face, fracturing his nose. As he sat slouched in a pool of bloody mucus,
the American spy looked down grinning. “Home run, bitch.”
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