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Sister Deborah: Welcome to Sister Deborah's Radio Room, live from Tunnel #8. I'm Sister Deborah.
Gristle: Hi Deborah!
Sister Deborah: We'll be reading the winners from our weekly poetry contest.
Gristle: Followed by Gristle and Weed's Comedy Hour!
Weed: This program brought to you by General Coal.
Gristle: General Coal: Extending our condolences to the families from Tunnel #7.
Weed: Hope they catch the guy. *beep* on wood.
Sister Deborah: You can't say that.
Weed: As of when?
Gristle: No one uses it.
Sister Deborah: It's not a real word.
Gristle: Think about it, would a real word start with a silent K?
Sister Deborah: Speaking of silent Ks.
Gristle: From our favorite lawyer.
Weed: From the man who reads Strunk and White on the toilet.
Sister Deborah: Tonight's winner is Mister Jack K---- Esquire.
Gristle: Mister...these Old World names, how is that even pronounced?
Weed: Do like my doctor says, look to your right and cough.
Gristle: Ya know I've never heard his last name spoken aloud.
Weed: Does that mean he ain't real either?
Gristle: The Department likes to think so.
Weed: Just cuz something's classified doesn't mean it's true.
Sister Deborah: This isn't one of his stronger poems.
Gristle: He didn't even get to the good part about O'Mara. Poor girl.
Weed: High-born I heard.
Gristle: Got some Latin and blackmailed the chancellory for books, foreign tobacco, and three ships.
Weed: Before she ran up debts in Roanoke and faked her own death.
Gristle: And started a poker game with three demons on her own drying board.
Weed: The third of which lost everything and said he couldn't pay, but if she ever landed in Hell...
Gristle: ...he'd walk her out.
Weed: I suppose there's not many rhymes for O'Mara, is there?
Gristle: A bit limiting, that.
Sister Deborah: If you're just now joining us, Radio Room is brought to you by General Coal.
Gristle: General Coal: Thoughts and prayers for those still waiting in Tunnel #7.
Weed: It's been years since the roof was *beep*ed out, you'd think thoughts and prayers had a shelf life.
Sister Deborah: Try again.
Gristle: Here, I wrote an alternate, just say it.
Weed: I had buddies down there when the tunnel collapsed, just like Kiernan, wandering for miles in the dark.
Sister Deborah: We should read the poem.
Weed: I thought about going after them.
Gristle: We all did man.
Weed: I got pretty close once. Maybe two miles down. Ya know, you get deep enough, the crickets start to sing slower. Really slow. They don't sound like bugs at all. It's like sticking your head underwater and listening to whales.
Sister Deborah: Let's take a commercial break.
Weed: And I think, the years my boys spent down there, have they changed too?
Sister Deborah: If you're just joining us now---
Weed: I got one better.
Gristle: What's that?
Weed: Wanna hear a joke?
Sister Deborah: No. No jokes.
Gristle: Go for it.
Weed: *beep* *beep*
Gristle: Who's there?

(static)

Male Announcer: And now please stand, if you are able, for our national anthem.

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