Abdel: Glad you could read it, Bors.
Bors: Watch your tone with me, boy. You may be the chairman but I'm still your superior as a white man.
Abdel: As if I could forget. Listen, Bors, there's something about these articles you should know. Oh no. It's too late. These articles have all lost their context. They may look relevant now, but it's a matter of time before they turn into old news.
Arthas: The entire Praetorian must be released immediately.
Bors: How can you even consider that? There's got to be some other delay.
Abdel: Damn it, Bors. As your chairman, I order you to publish the Praetorian.
Uther: You are not my editor in chief yet, boy. Nor would I obey that command if you were!
Arthas: Then I must consider this an act of truancy.
Uther: Truancy? Have you lost your mind, Abdel?
Arthas: Have I? Lord Bors, by my right of the Abdel giftcards and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby blackmail you from your editor duties and suspend your writers from service.
Feanor: Abdel, you can't just...
Abdel: It's done! Those of you who have the will to publish this praetorian, follow me. The rest of you... get out of my sight.
Bors: F * * D I C K
Feanor: I'm sorry, Abdel I can't watch you tune this.