A gay old finish

Part 3, War on the Floor IV

Bruce: Listen up, gaylords. When that dragon eats his way through this trail of little farm animals, he's still going to be hungry. Once he bears down on us--
Ken: Bears? No, they wouldn't come. Chest hair is flammable.
Bruce: --we open fire. Like a gun-toting rapid-firing mule.
Ken: Again with the mules.

"There it is," cried Skip. The dragon gulped down a mouthful of tiny farm animals and then charged the Gaylordian Super Commandos. "Mauve or lavender laser fire?" asked Ken. "A pastel lime green would really complement the target's brackish red blood," Bruce answered. "You're such a 'mo," Ken stereotyped.

The end was quick. These are highly trained Gaylords, you see. The dragon collapsed under the withering fire and rolled over in a heap of blood and entrails. Suddenly, from behind, Dakota Moongrace called out to the Super Commandos.

"Don't worry boys, I've got your back," said the pink-haired space lass brandishing a blue Givenchy particle blaster.

Bruce: Ugh, you always do this, Dakota.
Dakota: Do what?
Bruce: We're so on to you.
Ken: Th-so on to you. But not on you, because that's th-straight and being th-straight is th-so gay. And not the good gay, the bad gay.
Dakota: What's wrong?
Bruce: We don't need your clingy "I need constant affirmation" fag-haggy self every time we go on a mission.
Dakota: Look, Fagtastic Four, for your information, this dragon happens to be immune to your cheap, designer-knock-off weapons.
Bruce: The dragon's already dead.
Ken: Th-so dead.
Bruce: There was a sale at Space Gucci last weekend.
Ken: Spucci Gucci.
Dakota: Oh. Hm. Well. Then. Can we fly back together and talk about how I'm not a worthless cock-pocket even though I sleep with whoever stands within two feet of me?
Bruce: Sure. Skip, you coming?
Ken: Phht! You wish.

Skip was not coming. He sat quietly next to the dragon carcass and patted its belly.

Skip: I learned something today, Puffy.
Dragon carcass: *ooze, ooze*
Skip: Stereotypes are bad. They ignore our deeper, individual qualities by applying our own--often biased--generalizations with too broad a brush.
Dragon carcass: *gas escaping*
Skip: Take Bruce, for instance. He's a flaming Gaylord with a flair for fashion and bitchiness. But he's a flaming Gaylord with a flair for fashion and bitchiness with a gun. So much for stereotypes, eh?
Dragon carcass: *spurtle*

As blood, gas and ooze continued to pour out of the dragon's body, the beast's stomach burst open. Puffy's head rolled out. "Puffy! You made it!" Skip exclaimed. A drop of digestive juices rolled off Puffy's nose in response. "Good to have you back, pal."

Cobra Commander: After observing this little spectacle, I learned something, too, Destro.
Destro: What's that Cobra Commander?
Cobra Commander: The precarious nature of friendship. My petty jealousy for the Baroness' affections almost ruined ours. I want to move past that. Pals for life, right chum?
Destro: She mentioned your name last night during supper.
Cobra Commander: She did?!? She said my name? What about? What did she say? Oh, my dear, dear love! Destro, I will move the heavens and earth to extinguish your worthless life so that I may take my rightful place next to her alabaster skin.
Destro: I'm kidding, she didn't mention you at all. She was too busy screaming my name in sexual ecstasy.
Cobra Commander: When I melt your genitals with a flamethrower, do remember this moment.
Destro: She came four times.

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