seventy five.

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*mike and will fighting over who gets the bed*

mike: why don't we just both share the bed?

will: because you, my dear michael, happen to always steal the blankets, waking me up from my peaceful dreams and leaving me like a popsicle.

mike: i do not.

will: yes you do. i still remember the fateful night of '85, when i froze to death.

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