|
|
|
|
 | |  |
| Damn it! Those tattoo covered bearded lady aliens have blown the roof off my airplane! Send Al Pacino after them! | |
 | |  |
|
 |
| | |
| We can't, sir. Al Pacino betrayed us for a lifetime supply of sour balls and a farting unicorn. We had to send someone else. | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| But who else could open a can of whup-ass on those aliens like Al Pacino? | |
| | |
|
|
| | |
| Because of the short notice, we could only get Kevin Sorbo. We put him on a rocket ship to the alien's spacecraft. | |
| | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| | |
| Ooo, look at the red blinking lights! | |
| | |
|
 |
|
|
