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If you do not recall, gentlemen, it was I who "made with the werferwerfers"! It is a harsh world, and it is often werf or be werfed.
I have not been resting on my laurels, either, the surviving members of my First-Person Shooter division have been retrained as the Third-Person Sneaker Special Forces Group. They have perfected the difficult art of leaning from side-to-side to look around corners, and each has been supplied with a light-meter to tell if they are hiding in shadows or not, effectively rendering them invisible! In theory.
And where are they? HAHAHA! They are already among you, hiding in those innocent-seeming cardboard boxes. The ones with the eye-holes, shuffling along the floor. They should be unstoppable, bar Kenyan Mud Crabs, but hey.
Meanwhile, my contacts in the middle east have supplied me with what they assure me is a fighting force of extraordinary magnitude!
What the fuck? AHEM! Yes. well. I'm sure they'll... do. Something.
And on a slightly less fucktarded note, my experiments in cybernetics and dinosaur D.N.A. have borne fruit! And I think I know what killed the dinosaurs. Merchandising.
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