Considering all of these thus then that there solid golden sun rises. The solid golden son rises. And rinses. The entire history of mankind building up to the thirty first of december in the year of our lord nineteen ninety nine in which the intersection of media frenzy and possible 'Y2K' bug materializes in the broken teeth of a dying woman, the cracked and splintered enamel giving the only true prophecy that mattered.
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