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El Oráculo Ciegos en Bristol

What fools these mortals be! Just as they thought Notre Dame was doomed for Christmas in Detroit, so they thought the Blind Oracle at Bristol's mystic powers left him back in October. But nay! The All-Seeing One merely needed to find his AAA card so he could get his discount at Lenscrafters. Silence, now, as the Oracle enters his trance-like state for the last time this season...

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"A journey across the desert to the end of civilization, where the Headless Mediocrity awaits. Return to the site of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, where only a thin line in the sand protects you from certain death. The ancient sound of misery echoes off the mountains: Bwaaaannnnnng. Bottom line, the Irish lack the team speed to keep up with the Hurricanes. Miami beats No--"

[A bowstring snaps in the darkness of the Oracle's cave. The Oracle slumps to the ground, an arrow in his chest. The Blind Oracle at Bristol is dead.]

[A diminutive figure emerges from the shadows. It is Notredamus, Prophet of Truth and Footbaw Justice.]

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"Men, today we're going to be using a brush block against Miami. Remember to brush their ribs right up against their spines. And save Jeff Stoutland's ass for me. Let's go."

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