"Hmmmmm," BHAGHHH-RUPTH thought aloud, "right about now, Phil Smith's character Phil Smith would have this big long dramatic monologue about the risks associated with trying to balance romantic interests and the demands imposed by the responsibility of people in heroic positions."
"Yeah," Jake replied, "but nobody reads what that whiny motherfucker says anyway. So get up there and kick this guy's ass, okay?"
BHAGHHH-RUPTH shrugged. Nothing to lose, really. Now for a clever way to dispatch this goon...
"Excuse me," he called, "your suit looks uncomfortable."
The intruder shrugged. "Mail order. Bastards must use metric measurements or something."
"No," BHAGHHH-RUPTH replied, "those cannons."
The villain held up one of the guns. "Oh, these."
"They're cool," BHAGHHH-RUPTH said.
"Thanks," LORD BLAST beamed.
"But what if you have an itch?"
"An... itch?" The red-clad ruffian paused. "Never thought of that."
"Can you scratch your nose with those?" BHAGHHH-RUPTH asked, indicating LORD BLAST's twin cannon.
The intruder thought a moment. He slowly raised one cannon to rub his nose. "Well," he replied, "it's not too effective just rubbing it like this. Maybe if I pull the trig..."
LORD BLAST's first and last magic trick ended with his head magically disappearing from his shoulders. The rest of him slowly toppled to the ground as the rest of the people in the bar slowly stood to their feet.
Grimm strolled out of the restroom nonchalantly. "Damn," he said to himself. "Guy can't take a piss anymore without some explosion going off." He turned to Jake. "Sorry, man, I kinda hosed down the far wall in there."
"I gotta clean that up first," Jake replied, indicating the remains of LORD BLAST.
Grimm shook his head. "Mail order again?"
Jake nodded, annoyed. "That's the third time this month."
"Kids these days," Grimm lamented.
