Nothing, except some vicious Earth bitch descended from her curiously atmosphered planet ruled by flaming bipedal warmongers and destroyed me and the rest of my beak-lipped people.
Yeah, whatever--I asked about your arm, dude.
Oh, that. Machinal mishap at the factory. I'm union and I'm in the middle of a lawsuit.
So what's the story, morning glory?
The paper dress factory I work at claims that by hacking my own arm off viciously with a handheld cleaver I've waived my right to workman's compensation.
Fear us, for we are the music makers. We are the dreamers of dreams.
Candy.
Yes. Candy.
And we are looking for you...
Look at me. I'm so cute and innocent on the outside.
On the inside, we are plotting evil ways to thwart important democratic officials and overtake their empires in our ongoing quest for candy. Sweet, delicious, glorious candy.
...to COME ON DOWN! Tiny Asian Girls, tell the fine viewers what they've won!
A ride on my pony.
Maybe, if I keep looking at everyone with this mildly suggestive and offensive glint in my eye, they will give me candy.