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Our defenders are by no means ordinary citizens. They are frequently confronted with situations the likes of which you and I could never adequately care about. But living this sort of dangerous lifestyle does not come without its licensing requirements. That's what brings our good guys to the Department of Unordinary Justice Personnel and Taxidermy.
Sir Jogs A Lot: Here in these majestic halls of hero enlistment, my pores just ooze with civic pride. By way of standing in these lines and completing those forms in triplicate, each one of us receives special permission from the people of Cattlebit County to apprehend the legal limit of ne'er-do-wells for another year. I could almost weep.
Uber Eskimo: Could you bring it down a notch, Blogs A Lot? You're starting to smell like Tang again. Couldn't we just mail these registrations in, or fill them out online? I've gotta shake loose and set up the Tivo to tape Family Feud tonight.
Utility Infielder: Oh no way - I would not try to cut the corners on this mama. I heard one time at the Worthy Burger that that's how Tommy Tenhands lost his license. You know, those costumes were the only things that fit his torso very well, and now they're just useless.
Bionic Jemimah: Now you stop that, telling tales that ought not be spread about. These forms are difficult enough as is, without you all disturbing me so. I've never seen the likes of some of these questions. Do we have to fill in this blank for Representative Color? I don't believe I have such a color.
Hillbilly Robot: Well of course you do, Jemimah. It's as plain as the gun rack on my back. You're the one what wears brown in these parts.
Utility Infielder: As brown as a catcher's mitt. Assuming that said mitt is made of brown leather, word up.
Sir Jogs A Lot: When I imagine us all at war against trouble makers, I call you the Brown Bringer of Wholesome Goodness. I usually just cut it down to B.B.W.G., though. It saves space when I'm journaling.
Bionic Jemimah: Well bless the day before us! What a wondrous revelation, brought to me by my very own host of angels. What in all the world would I ever do without you precious folks?
Uber Eskimo: Yeah, the whole brown discovery is the highlight of my day, as well. But if there's gonna be a big cheek-pinching session right now, could you put me down for zero? I'm not up for any special moments while we're being herded through this stockyard.
Hillbilly Robot: Would y'all simmer down, pretty please? My systems ain't calibrated to tolerate such carrying on. If y'all raise a ruckus and they turn the hose on us, I'll be the one sent to the scrap pile. Just remember that when this old robot ain't around no more to pick on.
Utility Infielder: Oh come on now, C.O.R.N., you can't think like that. You can't have "no" in your heart, or else your dreams will never touch the sky. Haven't you ever heard of the little tin man who could? How he wished he had a heart, so he could get up that hill, and he never would stop, but kept on keeping on. You've got to be that little tin man who could. You've got to say, "I think I can, chug-chug. I think I can, chug-chug."
Uber Eskimo: You know, if you keep telling this mechanical hillbilly to say, "I think I can chug chug", he's just gonna hit the whiskey again. It's like you're taking a chainsaw to the rungs in his twelve-step ladder, Mendoza.
Lady at Window: Number 238. Last call for number 238, The Freelancer.
Sir Jogs A Lot: The Freelancer, eh? It appears that the least trusty of all trusty companions is in absentia. Was it not made clear in the logorrhea of our 3-month contract that his attainment of a license in this county was a requisite responsibility?
Hillbilly Robot: The bottle is dead to me, and I to it! Confound all ye naysayers!
Uber Eskimo: Did I say "nay"? Does anybody still say "nay" anymore, for that matter? And when you say "nay", is the "verily" implied?
Sir Jogs A Lot: Nay verily, indeed, Uber Eskimo. Nay verily, indeed. The fact that the "verily" is too often implied in our hurry-up-and-wait corporate lifestyles is a chilling commentary on today's society. The innocent and beleaguered citizens of this world can only hope and pray, and write strongly worded letters to their local newspapers, declaring their collective need for a hero. We who are gathered here at the Department of Unordinary Justice Personnel and Taxidermy have heard their cry, excepting those few in that line over there who are skilled in the art of stuffing and mounting animals. But the queue on this side of the room is replete with listeners responding to the shrill voice, "I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero til the morning light!" Can you hear it, fellow Vowels? Can you hear it?
Utility Infielder: That's the Long-Distance Dedication that Casey Kasem plays for me in my dreams, Sir Jogs A Lot. And I've got the Bonnie Tyler collectible plate on my mantle to prove it.
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