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With a rizz in my eye and a smirk on my gyatt, I yeet the crown of alpha, for in the dance of broing out, it's the edging and mewing of rivalry that juices our bond. Yet, in yapping and yapping alone, I mog Samuel, knowing full skibidi that in the grimace shake of friendship, it ain't about who cops the dub, but the gyatt vibes in the grind of playful mogging.