Vulture Squadron Bravo 9
Let me set the record straight on Vulture Squadron Bravo Niner, folks. Ain't no such thing, chicken-wing.
'Scuse me. Prof. mixed up a batch of something and we're all feelin' a bit loopadaisical if you knowhaddimean.
So, where was I? Oh yeah, Vulture Squar-don 9. Yup. Ain't no such animal. Just two guys, Steve and Rick. Well, now. I mean, there may have at one point been...
...been a Vulture Squadron 9 but as far as we can tell, it's just Steve-O and "The Ricker." Oh no, Steve is...was? Violet clearance but we just give new guys nicknames here in da Great Outdoors. Mmm..smell that pine-fresh scent. And it's like, real. Pine. Real pine. Real pine scent...are you with me here, there are TREES all over the frickin' place.
So yeah, the guys who found the stash...well, a couple were "lost" (our group's way of saying that their clones were activated even tho' they weren't all killed up) and we kinda took 'em in. That whole Old_Reckoning_Video_Entertainment_Archive_#949/GAG debacle that went down a few years back. They call me Big B, which is certainly better than "Brush" -- I mean, seriously. Is that some kind of a joke 'cuz man, not funny. Not a-tall.
Anyway, long story short: the Vultures did indeed "leave some men behind" and we scooped 'em up into our lil' clubhouse. Bad-ass dudes, let me tell ya, Sally. But after a couple coconut shells full of (what ith this thuff? it'th blue and it maketh my tongue numb) whatever The Professor brewed up, they turned out to be cool dudes. We managed to liberate them of their gear and mod their VultureCraft9000's bot-brain in order to lighten it up a little. Now it's a total party bus. Which reminds me: PAINT JOB.
Oh hell yeah, we gots buckets of the stuff. We even mix the colors...ever hear of BROWN? Hah!
So we're all here, me, The Ricker, Steve-O and all the cast-off clones washed up on this uncharted desert isle. That's Gill-I-GAN, and Skip-R-2...the millionaire and his wife...the movie star. The Professor and Mary-Ann, here at Xavier_Central. Just chillin' and illin' away from all you sad, sad bastards. Oh, and someone please kill #33...eventually he's gonna run out of credits and then you don't have to listen to his senseless yammering about VitaTabs or KleenSheen or whatever the hell he's selling over there at HPD&MC. Jerk.
Rock over Alpha Complex. Rock on The Computer. See ya later, traitors.
-- Big B, aka "Brush-U-TTH-9"