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  1. themanwhofell
    It is 7am in the Daily Mirror offices. The editorial board is meeting. There is a hushed silence broken only by a man hacking up phlegm.
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  2. themanwhofell
    "It’s a big day today, troops!" booms the editor, wearing his special editor’s hat. "This is like 9/11 and pancake day rolled into one."
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  3. themanwhofell
    "What’s going on boss?" asks a mousy journalist with a pencil stuck behind her ear. "Has Piers Morgan prolapsed yet?"
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  4. themanwhofell
    "This isn’t about Piers," sneers the editor. "This is real news. We’re going to take down Public Enemy Number One. El Jefe del Mar."
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  5. themanwhofell
    There is a gasp. A Dickensian child faints. "Not… him?" whimpers a rat-faced picture editor. "Yes!" screams the editor. "STEVE WRIGHT."
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  6. themanwhofell
    The Ride of the Valkyries blares out. Rain hammers down. Thunder booms. A photo of Radio 2 DJ Steve Wright is beamed onto a wall.
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  7. themanwhofell
    "Know your enemy," hisses the editor. "Examine his face. Look into his eyes, drink deep of his soul. We will take the fucker down."
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  8. themanwhofell
    "Sure thing boss," bleats mouse girl. "But… Steve Wright. He’s a big fish. This guy is massive. He’s like a God. He invented music."
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  9. themanwhofell
    "We’ve killed God before. We’ll kill God again. Now, what do we know about this scumbag?" The editor is now sporting an unsightly erection.
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  10. themanwhofell
    "He eats food," says a masked man in the corner. "Crazy food! Jacket potatoes. Scrambled eggs! Bacon! The guy is nuts!"
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  12. themanwhofell
    "He loves radio. He actually listens to shows that aren’t his own!" adds the masked man. "This guy is a fucking sicko!" shrieks the editor.
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  13. themanwhofell
    "On Fridays he visits his mum in Surrey," says the deputy editor, who is just an ant dressed as a man. "The smoking gun!" cries the editor.
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  14. themanwhofell
    "This is amazing!" shrieks the editor. "After all these years! All those long, lonely decades! We’ve done it! We’ve got him!"
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  15. themanwhofell
    Lightning strikes the building. The editor’s face is illuminated, white against the black sky. He cums into his hands, shrieking, dancing.
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