3393. Those movements were just like Bluto’s movements, as he prepared to blast me and my feeble arguments off of my soda box. I was looking right down the barrel when he went off.
3394. “See this fist,” Bluto said. “I believe in God because of this fist’” Mr. Sacco’s fist, I would like to point out, was not the same as your ordinary fist. It was a fist that had many times got jammed in machinery, or cut on other people’s teeth, and its scars, dents and discolorations were hardly concealed by its covering of oily hair.
3395. But Bluto was not talking about his fist, he was talking about his wristwatch, it turned out, as I realized from the sermon he began to preach to me.