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[Good evening chelonauts, tonight you are being treated to the fine sight of one (1) bruised and somewhat bloody Ant-Man looking far more annoyed than he has looked his entire stay on this turtle. There are scrapes and cuts all over his face and his mouth is a thin line that is barely visible until he opens it to speak.]
Heads up: if any of you guys see a rooster that looks like it's been fused with a telephone box, do me a huge favor and run, not walk, in the opposite direction if you want to wake up tomorrow with still ten fingers. [He hasn't lost any of his own yet but it's only a matter of time.] I don't think there's another one of these Frankenchickens out there but just in case.
[There's long-suffering sigh and he's about to say more when he immediately gets drowned out by the rooster rattling around in its makeshift cage and crowing its little cybernetic head off. At the rate things are going, that cage ain't gonna hold it much longer and then fingers are actually going to be lost.
Scott turns and attempts to shush the rooster several times, but since the rooster listens to him about as well as everyone else does (which is to say not at all), he finally gives up and just ignores the damn thing, pinching his nose in exasperation.]
Anyone have any extra bandages? And maybe a flamethrower? You'll get paid back in chicken patties.
Heads up: if any of you guys see a rooster that looks like it's been fused with a telephone box, do me a huge favor and run, not walk, in the opposite direction if you want to wake up tomorrow with still ten fingers. [He hasn't lost any of his own yet but it's only a matter of time.] I don't think there's another one of these Frankenchickens out there but just in case.
[There's long-suffering sigh and he's about to say more when he immediately gets drowned out by the rooster rattling around in its makeshift cage and crowing its little cybernetic head off. At the rate things are going, that cage ain't gonna hold it much longer and then fingers are actually going to be lost.
Scott turns and attempts to shush the rooster several times, but since the rooster listens to him about as well as everyone else does (which is to say not at all), he finally gives up and just ignores the damn thing, pinching his nose in exasperation.]
Anyone have any extra bandages? And maybe a flamethrower? You'll get paid back in chicken patties.
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Government secret. [The answer is at least mach 5.]
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[Quiet snort.] Lame. That means you don't know.
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No, that means I'm a federal agent and I'm not going to give out classified information. [He was fucking his boss who was there when they put it all in. He knows more than he ever wants to.]
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OK, Mr. Federal Agent. Don't you think the last thing this turtle needs is your little nuclear cock? He's gotta go. Voted off the turtle.
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And how exactly do you expect me to send him back? If I had that kind of information, I wouldn't still be here!
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And he doesn't just shoot off the nukes at random. [Glares.] Though he might if you try to shove him in a chicken coop.
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And I wasn't going to shove him into the chicken coop. It'd be a really nice chicken penthouse with concrete walls several feet thick in hopes of containing any radiation leaks. The raft would have to be huge to give it enough buoyancy, though. But, hey. The U.S. government built a few concrete ships that actually floated during WW2. It's do-able.
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Of that's all it takes, sign me up.
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I'd rather have Poyo.
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