Richie Rich came into my office the other day.
"I have a bad feeling about this situation," he said, referring to a conversation we'd been having earlier that morning.
"What?! What!" I exclaimed, looking up at him in wide-eyed panic. Every time I feel like I have my job under control, he throws another bender at me to set everything askew again.
"I don't know, but my gut tells me things are going to go wrong. I dont' know what. I just feel it in my gut."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "I don't like your gut," I grumbled, "it never tells us anything nice. Come to me when your gut's in a good mood, please."
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