This man is a monster

Hmmm. Let's see what's in the fridge. ... What is that ... turkey? Sniff. Pretty slippery, but not too bad. ... Ah, cream cheese. Scrape that green crap off the outside of it and it'll be just fine. ... Beans? Eww! Those are pretty fuzzy ... better put them back. Hmmm. Is that sauerkraut? Cripes, it's moving! ... Jelly! That doesn't go bad, does it? ... Applesauce ... hmm ... oh my, not in this lifetime. ... I wonder if I shouldn't move the fridge into the temporal rift in the secret room. ... Probably no electricity in 1868, though. ... Hmmm. turkey, cream cheese and strawberry jelly. I think I have some Wonder bread left over from Christmas, or Labor Day. That doesn't ever go bad. ... Bingo! Find me one of those old Hess's bricks to put on top of the George Foreman grill and ... BAM! ... An Elena Ruz sammich! ... Whoa! What the hell! ... I think somebody's in the basement. Or something! All of Marge's crap is still down there. ...


I think I heard a voice upstairs!

What the hell! I know this place! This is Marge's crap. Those are her hyperbaric chambers. And those are her polar bear rugs ... the damn cats threw up all over them & picked out their eyes. And there's her dentist chair! Damn! This is Atown-Liker's basement.

Who the hell is down there? I've got a sword and the makings of an Elena Ruz sammich and I know how to use them!

He sounds violent.

I know how to handle this. Sir, we are not here to harm you. I just want you to put down the sword, and the jelly jar, and slowly walk down into the basement to be tortured.

Um ... no?

Hmm. He's clever. This is going to be harder than I thought. Rudolph, give me the explosives.

Explosives? You never mentioned explosives. I'm not sure we even have any in Santa's workshop.

Hang on, James Bond. I know this guy. He's my friend. I think he owes me some damn money as a matter of fact. Hey, Atown! It's the Player.

You? Get out of my basement, you self-serving bastard!

And he's your friend? ... All right, listen Mr. Liker. Here's how it's going to work. I'm going to come up the steps. You're going to put down your weapons. And I'm going to hold this screwdriver against your eye until you give me the whereabouts of Old Donovan.

Who is Old Donovan?

Wrong answer, Mr. Liker. Now I will be forced to put out your eye with the screwdriver and hold this hammer drill to your kneecap. ...

This fellow's got some nice tools down here....

Down! Down! Everyone take cover! He's attacking! ... Incoming!!

I'm hit! Oh Lord, I'm hit! Damn!


Oh good heavens! Those are the moldiest beans I have ever seen.

It stinks! It stinks! Medic!

Back off! I've got leftover fish and chips from Lord Wellington's Gate and, God help me, I'll use them! Do you know how long that place has been closed?

Oh my God. The nuclear option. We need more firepower.

Wait. Let me talk to him. ... Mr. Liker? Remember me? I'm your guardian angel.

You? I'd rather talk the psycho with the power tools!

It's true that perhaps I was not paying attention when your life took a turn for the worse. And it may have been true when St. Michael said everything I touch turns to poo, but I've turned over a new leaf. Just ask Gen. Trexler.

It's true, sir. She was my guardian angel as well. And although she was apparently preoccupied tinkering with a lute at the time of my demise -- and, really, if I might, she had plenty of time to see that truck coming -- she has recently been a positive force on my existence, such as it is.

And the Player has turned over a new leaf as well. Although he ran away when his friends turned against Marge, he did save me from being waterboarded by Ronan.

OK. You can come up to negotiate. But just you. Anybody down there moves and she gets it.

Oh my gosh. He's holding a ring bologna to her throat!

That's leftover from the 2006 primary election. This man is a monster.


I ... can't ... smell ... my ... cologne.