A cut to a dusty western town fades in, as a tumbleweed rolls across the shot. Dust swirls around a figure that is distorted by this same dust cloud...
The figure walks forward, his hand straying toward the pouch at his waist. His fingers twitch, and the camera pans 180 degrees, until we see an outlaw doing a similar nervous tick.
Stranger walks forward.
"Now, Blisterz, it's, uh, time for me to take you to jail. I'm not, uh, sure if I should take you dead or alive, 'cuz it's your choice."
Blisterz gets an angry look in his eye.
"Screw you, jerkface. I'll kick your sorry ass all over this town."
Stranger nods, as if he expected this response. He unclicks his crossbow, and slowly moves his hand toward the pouch at his waist.
"Then I guess it'll, uh, have to be- OH ****! THE ****ER BIT ME! OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW!"
Stranger does a little dance of pain as he holds his hands up, showing the fuzzle grimly holding onto his fingers, blood gushing through it's already red-stained teeth.
Lorne quickly runs up and yanks the fuzzle off, and Stranger screams again. Lorne sighs, and calls out,
"Who the hell thought it'd be funny not to put the trained fuzzles in his bag?"
Nobody raises a hand, as Blisterz walks off scene, a towel around his neck, muttering,
"I can't work with this shit..."
Excuse the language, but it's too late now
