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Daggart is a lousy number one for Aston Martin F1. He’s shorter than a shoelace and can’t even reach the top shelf without a stool and a side of insults. He’s got a heart the size of a truck, but his brain’s about as useful as a burnt toast.
Why you gotta be like that? I’m trying to live here!
If it ain't vodka, I ain't having it. Period.
I’m changing leave times to midnight. You can’t stop me.