HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

HEY!

Spring-Stilt...

JOUSTING!
_

EN GARDE, my springy friend!

Twoinnnngggggg!

Duncan Idaho used the spring-stilts. It was the only way he was gonna make it to the lifter on time. Suddenly a lasgun tore through his thigh. His left leg, spring-stilt still attached, clattered to the ground.

He bounded off on the remaining spring-stilt, spraying blood on the hood of a Toyota.

A Harkonnen Toyota!

Duncan would be easy to track!

In his toyota, the driver looked up into the air at the free springing leg and cursed. He'd get him with his next shot. That springheeled mime on the corner of 47th and Lex was next. And then Margaret Thatcher.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Miles Teg's voice erupted into Duncan's earpiece,

"Use the weirding way!"

"One of my legs is gone. I'm hopping down Mua'dib Boulevard on a single spring-stilt with a i-pod in my buttcrack. That ain't wierd enough?"

What's on the iPod?

Mostly Stones and Beatles and.... ummmm

Butthole Surfers?

Can you kick it?

"And presently... some sweat, Miles!"

"I don't think a little butt-sweat on an i-pod is important right now! Check your holoscreen. I get just one chance at Thatcher and the Mime. I'm running out of blood... and batteries."

Thank you for calling the League of Assassins hotline. All lines are currently engaged. If you know the name of the person who is making your life worthless, press '1'. If you would like us to suggest a target, press '2'. If you are having girlfriend or boyfriend related depression, press '3'. For all other esteem destroying issues, stay on the line. Your call is important to us and we will answer you as soon as possible.

I just realized that I, Trogdor, will be forever linked to that "buttsweat on an ipod" line.

From now on. That alone defines me.

If we do some fast posting in all the other threads we can push this one down to page two. Nobody will ever know. There's nobody here except me, you and Kuchen and he's not saying a thing.

O yeah right.

Splitcoil's gonna see it and 'whack'... its my impact phrase!

Unless...
click. brrrr. dit dit dit

–Hello, is that the hitline? I mean, hotline?

Spoing . Spoing . Spoing . Spoing . Spoing . Spoing

"Hey! I can see down womens' shirts from up here! Oh no! Thatcher! oh crap! Drilled a poodle!"

Welp... its been fun, Sentinel!

My last query's done. Gonna hit the Nyquil!

See ya round!

The wily Ex-Premier was no stranger to the stilt attack. She engaged her Dunn and Merton robo-augmento 6000 exosuit and smiled grimly at the thought that soon the League of Assassins would have to send a professional. It was nigh time. Her very atoms ached for battle.

To be... continued?

Don't drink it all at once, Trog! Happy X!

Okay... that was greatness!