Trillaphon: Shootout at the No-Aim Corral.
Hydrogen: It's good to know that if you're firing an antiaircraft gun at someone walking toward you down a one-foot-wide hallway, you'll need to dump an entire 500-round magazine into them to hit anything.
Trillaphon: Were those giant gas tanks on either side? I think they were missing those too. Or maybe they're just full of concrete.
Trillaphon: WE ARE THE ORG, PREPARE TO BE SIMILATED.
Hydrogen: YOUR INACCURACY WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN.
Trillaphon: That square-faced lady is just like that one kid you'd play Cowboys and Indians with who refused to fall down no matter how many fake bullets and arrows you shot at him.
Hydrogen: "Nuh uh, you didn't get me because I have a magnet shield that I got from Superman!"
Trillaphon: "Oh yeah? Well Superman is my real dad now, he came and threw my stepdad into the sun and said I could have candy every day and also that I win this game forever times a million!"
Hydrogen: I like how all their sophisticated flashy cyborg Kill-O-Vision implants actually make their aim worse somehow.
Trillaphon: SILENCE PUNY HUMANOID, PREPARE TO BE WALKED TOWARD.
We clear up the BREXIT for confused Americans wondering why the global economy is collapsing this time.
BEEP! BOOP! ZAP! Video games aren't for my dad anymore! Because he's dead.
Something Awful reviews the absolute worst movies out there. We focus mostly on horror and science fiction, because all writers here on Something Awful are huge nerds.