The man looks around, sees a frothing mound of Other-town, thinks, 'this can't be going down,' and frowns. The bigot bastard and his classically pilastered appearances, such semblances of sincerity, supporting pillars of depravity, his lizard innards and witch-hunt manias. But you can't blame yourself, he remembers, and so he doesn't: humility is for losers; please pass me my rifle.
(And that's how the west was won, and that's how it will implode.)
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