Chapter Three - Knock the Pants off that Ass! (page 2)
Notice the slumped over, unkempt appearance! Woe be to the boss who hires this poor sod! His hair appears to be a bird's nest of some sort, his "WCW Nitro" shirt is stained and wrinkled, and his pants seem to have been stolen from a Salvation Army dumpster! This is definitely not "hiring material", or as we in the biz call it, "hiring material". Let's whip this unfortunate drifter into shape!
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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