Hello! I'm Fritz Huhnmörder, and this is my story.
I was squirming in the chair trying not to look at that fucking scene where the animals fart on Mary. Suddenly, every screen got fuzzy, and then he popped out from behind the monitors. He is, was, and will be, my son, Junior Detox Huhnmörder.
"Hello, Dad!" Hello, brat.
"Looks like you really screwed the pooch, huh?" No shit.
"Well, at least you're still in a good mood about things!" I'm not in a good mood, you idiot!
"Oh, should I set you free?" Yes!
"Hmm, nah!" You grandson of a bitch.
"You know, I always wondered about that optical scanner." I don't like where this is going...
"I bet it unlocks some really neat stuff!" Oh, fuck.
"Only one way to find out!" SHIT!
As soon as he pulled out a pocketknife, I felt a scream bubble up in my throat. He started cutting out my eye, and I let out an anguished scream that could even make a banshee cover its ears. I don't remember much after that; I must've blacked out or something.
After a period of time I heard a familiar cluck. At the sound I lifted my head. The Chicken... he... he came back? I heard him ask if that guy on the monitors was my son, and I nodded. He just looked at me and said, "Ugh... we gotta stop him!" I agreed wholeheartedly as he released me and we shook on it.
Before departing for DC I grabbed an eyepatch and the keys to my battle mech. Yes, I have keys for a fucking robo-suit. So what? *sigh* Sorry, I have to rant every so often or double-dose on my "happy pills." ANYHOO, I covered my eye socket and hugged a framed photo of my wife.
Trust and believe, Katherine is the most beautiful woman I know. Glittering sapphire eyes, long black eyelashes, crimson lips, chocolate-colored tresses worthy of Aphrodite herself, and a 40DDD-30-40 figure. *purr* She's the reason I'm not cutting anymore.
Oopsies, getting off-topic again... I climbed into my mecha-suit, and off we went.
Soon I noticed RC was about to be shot, so I flew between him and his assailant.
It was my son. The little brat had gone too far! I fired every last laser, missile, and bullet at him, eventually shooting his creation, knocking my son out of the sky. Hoo, boy. RC and I landed and gave Junior and his chicken a hell of a beatdown. Soon after kicking him through the Capitol Building, I walked into the room and chewed the whiny seventeen-year-old out. "You are in a monumental amount of trouble when we get home, Mister."
"But I-"
"But nothing! You wait until your mother hears about this; you won't hear the end of it!"
A six-hour screaming match later, my son was in the chair. I turned to RC and simply said, "Thanks. No hard feelings?"
"No hard feelings," the bird replied.