“… I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it!”

“(ahem) But, Hamlet?”

“Horatio! Wherefore wilt thee vexeth me during this, mine own moment of sorrow?!”

“Hamlet, I begeth of thy forgiveness but…is yond…Yorick??

“Huh. Well, fuck me liketh a goat.”

“Yond’s…”

“‘Aye. Tis only Hymen Scroop, the asshole! Had no more brains than a stone but…haply he wast right about the myristic acid. (shrugs)” 

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