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. |