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Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the west... wait east. West! God! I sound manchicken like a fucking psycho. Veronica Sawyer: Shit, Heather, I don't have anything against Martha Dunnstock. Heather Chandler: manchicken You don't have anything for her either. Come on. It will be very. The note will give her shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks. Heather Duke: [playing croquet] So what are you gonna do Heather? Take two shots or manchicken send me out? Heather Chandler: Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? First you ask if you can be red, knowing that I'm always red. [puts her croquet ball against Heather's and sends it flying] Heather Duke: Shit. Heather Chandler: It's your turn, Heather. J.D.: [shows Heather pictures] Heather Duke: Me and Martha Dumptruck? Where did you get this? J.D.: I just had the nicest little chat with Ms. Dumptruck. Got along famously. It's kind of scary that everyone's got a little story to tell. You wanna see the canoeing shots?
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