Hydrogen: For context, our buddy Lance here stole a limo to escape from the evil henchmen, and then parked it on the one corporate garage that was apparently also gang turf, because all the tires were stolen overnight and he had to walk straight into this street hockey game and/or ambush.

Trillaphon: Straight Into Compton: Lance's Last Ride.

Hydrogen: I'm really trying to imagine a less threatening gang of street toughs, but it's not working. The random mismatched pastel-colored 80s clothes are a universal signal of weakness and safety, like the opposite of wasps.

Hydrogen: Ma'am, I'm commandeering this shopping cart in the name of the FBI, or the CIA, or whoever it is I supposedly fetch coffee for. Now quick, push me around like the giant baby I am!

Trillaphon: Where do I go to nominate this for worst chase scene of all time? Is there an Oscar for that yet? Because there's no possible competition for "roller hockey team crashes into each other and falls down constantly versus a shopping cart."

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