| Time | Text |
|---|---|
| Here you are, Mr. Raboon. | |
| Another scotch and soda? | |
| only way to fly. | |
| I used to be just like you. | |
| I used to hate flying. | |
| I mean, the moment I got on a plane, I'd be tripping those armor as if my teeth were being dripped. | |
| Truth is, statistically, you could fly every day for the next 26,000 years before you'd have an accident. | |
| Do you believe that? | |
| Of course, statistics don't matter. | |
| They're just the great things. | |
| They don't understand. | |
| Like how a 700-ton piece of machinery built 29,000 million people. | |
| It is. | |
| I just... | |
| What the hell is this? | |
| What the | |
| hell is | |
| this? | |
| First being Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Super Mario Brothers, and now the ultimate retro thestal robot. | |
| I present to the world Alex Jones, New World Order Wars. | |
| Return to the freaking bugs! | |
| Alex Jones! | |
| You nothing dumb! | |
| Let's free the fake wigs! | |
| We are going to defeat the global very big week! | |
| This game is mostly peaceful. | |
| Woo! | |
| Ah! | |
| I'm going to lower the whole population! | |
| Oh, big deal! | |
| I'm kicking you down, baby. | |
| I did not have sexual relations with that sexual. |