X sidled up behind her colleague Rita, an Italian lady, proud of her country's cuisine and culture.
"I DON'T LIKE RISOTTO! I FUCKING DON'T LIKE IT, YOU HEAR ME!", she screamed in Rita's ear, the angry aspirated consonants making the curly hairs near her colleague's earlobe tremble, like the pretty blue flowers of Campanula portenschlagiana in a June breeze.
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