I have absolutely no symptoms of POST Traumatic Stress disorder. But those little guys who keep following me around - you know - the ones who talk in little bitty purple words - they've got all of 'em. In fact, they're downright eaten up with it.

Okay guys! No, listen up! We got one chance and only one chance to catch this old geezer. You with the tranquilizer gun, make sure the damned thing's loaded this time. And remember to keep the nets and straightjackets out of sight until we're almost up on him. The old sumbitch is gettin' sly like a fox. Ready! Aim! What in the double-dee hell was that noise? A "whoop"? Dammit! Are you idjits so friggin' stupid that I have to tell ya not to whoop until after we catch the old codger? I swear to God! If you damned people weren't my cousins I'd just shoot all of ya.

Tee hee!!! Whatta buncha nitwits!