JT (marching through the kitchen, carrying his lacrosse stick, shouting): I am an unruly mob with a pitchfork and I demand to be fed.
Mama: Okay. How about some toast?
JT: Yes. One piece is enough.
Mama: You are an unruly mob seeking just one piece of toast? Doesn't that seem extreme?
JT: I am an unruly mob, Mama. Feed me.
Mama: Got it.
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