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Venomous encounters 

The Museum of Natural History opens its doors for the first time since the fall, and offers the kingliest of greetings.

Snakes? Oh, I knew Snakes. He was real intense, on account of how he always looked you in the eyes. He knew the score, Snakes, and he knew you knew, too---a single twitch and you'd be worm food, right there. The feds got wise, someone rolled and they shut him down for a little while; he hid out with Little Ray until the sting wore off. (Snakes' sting, natch, is killer.) He's back in town, stronger than ever, and Snakes? Now they call him King. The point, rascals, is this: You'll never defeat the cobras.

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Vol 25, No 4
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