!m6bshXgFHQ 03/10/12(Sat)23:10 No.18281905|
File: 1331439026.jpg-(51 KB, 275x300, slowpoke dapper.jpg)
"Heyo," you call out. "It's a me, Mario De Fighter Piloto! I was-a taking me torpedo for a walk-a and got lost on the way to Alexandria, you know way there, yes?"
"You're a fucking laugh riot, mate," the voice retorts. You peg the voice.
"Ah, Caldwell," you reply. "Be advised, I've got witches with sexual assault on their minds... somewhere on my six-o'clock."
"How horrible for you," Caldwell says dryly. "I can't imagine the terror."
"Who all else is down here?"
"Dunno," he replies. "Bader said he'd pop on down. Dunno how he manages, with his legs 'n all."
"So how did that debriefing go, anyways?"
"You were there, mate."
"Ah," he says, understandingly. "Yeah, you were half-asleep for most of it. Well, the only thing to note was when we walked in."
'We' meant you, Paddy Mayne, David Stirling, that slow-spoken, aptly-named tank commander "Oddball," Sean (with his sword,) Jack Churchill (with HIS fucking sword,) and of course the evil hissing Martian robo-cow.
"So what happened when we walked in?"
"Bit the end off his cigar, he did. Then he swallowed it, so he wouldn't have to admit he'd been surprised."
Patton. Oh, Patton.
>Find somebody in particular?
>Chat with Caldwell?
>Drown Caldwell and take his YELLOW INSULATED STU-