Hydrogen: Listening to this dialogue is like...it's like somebody put a big pile of cookie-cutter 70s and 80s cop movies into an industrial blender and reduced it to a fine slurry.
Trillaphon: A slurry seasoned with sultry MIDI keyboard saxophone patches and wailing Zakk Wylde whammy bar funeral dirges.
Trillaphon: Okay, so let's review what we've got on our uncatchable super killer here so far:
Hydrogen: I can't wait to see what the composite sketch guy comes up with for that.
Trillaphon: I'm picturing the Monopoly guy clutching a sack with a dollar sign in his mutated, radioactive Popeye fist, and something about sexually assaulting a xerox machine.
Now with the sun and the warmth and the generally pleasant atmosphere, you can no longer blame the weather for why you've spent the last sixteen hours sitting inside. You'll need to stay on your toes if you want to stay in your chair.
This tuna ain't working, bro, and this gross hot dog needs a one way trip to go live on your uncle's Flavor Farm.
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