Am I the only one thinking that in the same way as we are seeing a lot of helmetcam footage coming out on YouTube, we’re going to start seeing a lot more random amateur quadcoptercam footage? 

Whenever I drive by the dentist’s or see a dental appointment on the calendar I always think this line to myself and chuckle

And how *Huge* could his Mølars really be?

Damn, now I’m thinking of Oddities from the science channel.  I hate that show.  I don’t consider myself squeamish, but it really tests me, so I try to just avoid it and be happy, instead of lying awake at night with images of various preserved polycephalic animals in my head.

It was my own government that did this, I think in jagged letters ten feet tall. Of course after the cyborging I can only talk in Bluetooth, 802.11, and half a dozen classified military frequencies, and I left my loudspeaker module back at the base during my escape, so all Agent B hears are the chainsaw buzz of my rotors. He only knows it’s me because the boys under Groom Lake painted a cartoon of…what I was…on my fuselage. As a joke. They thought it was hilarious.

So I yaw back and forth, hoping he’ll interpret that as a “no”.

Steam rises from B’s nostrils as he tosses his massive, antlered head back. “When I see Fearless Leader again. I’m gonna pull a can of whoop-ass out of my hat!”

By the Great Acorn Above, he’s dense. I dispense some eka-meth from my internal drug reservoirs to focus; two point eight seconds later I come to a decision and warm up the excimer.

“But wait a second…the Admiral told me you were dead! He spoke at your funeral! He…” B trails off as he sees words of fire appear vertically in the bark of the trees in front of him, one word per trunk. My targeting system is very precise – assassination tools generally are.

“PEACHFUZZ BURNED ME. CALL CLOYD AND GIDNEY.”

Two hours later and thirty miles to the west, B paws at a nondescript hillock of frozen earth to uncover the squirt transmitter we buried there after the Upsidasium Affair. As dirt flies into the air, I idly wonder whether there’s room for a squirrel brain in a Metal-Munching Mouse chassis, and how long it would take to get through a certain flag officer’s sternum with its gleaming titanium teeth.

–
Large møøse on the left hand side of the screen in the third scene from the end, given a thorough grounding in Latin, French and “O” Level Geography by: BO BENNER
–

But I think the poor old moose knew it had no effective attack against the buzzing bird, and mostly wanted to be left alone.