Lance Armstrong in Mogadishu
Lance Armstrong looked out at the arid countryside as the blades of the black-hawk beat steadily like his heart. Leaning out of his position on the balcony of a bombed-out Mogadishu apartment block, Lance withdrew the hormone needle out of his arm in time to catch a glimpse of a helicopter smashing into the ground outside. He realized that some fantastic shit was about to go down, and rushed inside to encounter his .44 Magnum laying face down away from him. Snatching the vaguely phallic handgun up, Lance was struck by a feeling of rising sexual arousal. He remembered an encounter he had with another substance abusing individual in the recently deployed U.S. Forces. A horrifying thought struck him: "Maybe Cross is in there," he murmured, putting aside his confusing emotions and vaulting off the balcony, syringe in one hand, handgun in the other. He ran towards the crash site and saw an old truck filled with rebel soldiers pull up; at this point he started letting off rounds into the driver. However, this was clearly not a normal rebel driver, as the bullets blew chunks of flesh off his rapidly deteriorating face and revealing cold steel within. He had watched enough Terminator movies to realize that some serious Arnie shit was what it would take to save the lives of the soldiers defending the helicopter. Armed with this knowledge, Lance Armstrong faked an Austrian accent and charged towards the downed aircraft, gun-and-hypodermic-needle-blazing. He saw the metallic driver and threw the syringe, point forward, at his robotic eyes. But, of course, that's not how robotic eyes work, and the robot, enraged by the insubordinate human, snapped Lance Armstrong's neck. Cross also died.