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Mr. Vrednost awoke disheveled and disoriented in his own corn field, the afternoon sun blinding his eyes, a headache pounding through his skull. He climbed gingerly to his feet and suddenly surveyed the carnage of what used to be his beloved farm. It now resembled a deconstructed art project. "Oh Mr. Vrednost..." Mr. Vrednost uttered to himself in that typicaly Mr. Vrednost way that he had become known for. "You really need to cut down on the absinthe."