Time to switch to Whiskey

Why the fuck is my room full of pink flamingos and koosh balls?

[Muttering.]

...HEY. SHOCKWAVE. I WANT WORDS WITH YOU, BROTHER. WE GOT A PROBLEM.

Hey, anyone want a drunk, queer frog?

[OOC: Slowly coming off hiatus, not that I did such a great job staying on it.]

Anyone got a couple sticks of dynamite and a hundred pounds of bananas?

Okay, I got a problem. See, I got a wife. Got a wedding band to go along with her. Only now I ain't got the wedding band. When I say she's gonna kill me for that, I don't mean that in some meta-whatsit I'm sleeping on the couch sorta way, I mean it in the woman carries more guns on her than the fucking National Guard and she never misses.

Ever.

...Even if she's shooting at me. Especially if she's shooting at me.

Help a brother out.

[OOC: Whiskey died a few days back and is just now sobering up enough to realize it. His stuff is around, although his wedding band's been claimed.]

Let's set things on fire.

Breaker breaker. Listen up, little buddies. Hey-now--

[There's ... is that Skynard on in the background?]

Anyone want to go tubing?

[There's a minute's worth of static that is very clearly made by a man making static-noises into the communicator]

Brssht bzzt rrrrrt. Breaker breaker, ten-four, little buddy. This is Big Daddy comin' in loud and proud. There's a smokey on my tail and we're oh-nine hours out from the big E. Gonna stop in a-- FRED! GET IN THE TRUCK FRE-DUH. THIS AIN'T NO TIME TO GO SWIMMIN'! Over and out roger, Rodger.