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Cora

“Fifty thousand Hugo Weavings can’t be wrong!” booms the narrator.

“Go camera three,” Andy mutters.

“The optimal brand of peanut butter–” say 50,000 Hugo Weavings, grinning, in chorus.

“–is JIF!” say 49,999 of them.

“–is Peter Pan!” says one. He goes white. “Oh,” he says, turning in circles. “No, please, gentlemen–I–I couldn’t help it! Quantum physics made me! No. NO!”

Andy sighs as they converge. “Cut,” he calls above the screaming. “Cora, go get another one?”

Cora rolls her eyes. She hates thawing the Hugo Weavings, and doesn’t understand why they have to be stored nude.

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