Secret footage unearthed from 4 billon years ago - finally, the real story about life on Earth!
"Whoooeee! I gotta tell ya, Znod'rp, that was a great game. I'm pooped."
come hither - back off
"Ya smell like it too, Broosh'l. For Plashmor's yads, man, it's called 'soap'. Use it."
"Hey, the place was hot. Plus we had to encase our kloops in Yerz-Block®. I sweat. Deal."
"Knowing you, you probably would have gone traipsing in there Yerz-Block®-free like a bloody hooligan."
"I'm not an idiot. Last thing we need are mutant kloop crabs the size of Plashmor's head running around a new planet inventing nukes and building gammacraft."
"Oh man. Disgusting. Just the thought of that makes me cross my tentacles. Ouch. Now that would be one hell of a kloop crab outbreak, eh? Talk about teaching someone safe sex the hard way."
"Imagine getting down with your gal, taking off her zids, and finding that in her woovees."
"Good find, though."
"Mutant kloop crabs are a good find?"
"The solar system, moron. Not often ya come across a Level Shix'rt planet like that. We haven't played a game of Hoob in eons."
"There just isn't the space anymore, Znod'rp. I mean, look at us. We're packing ourselves into this galaxy cluster like a herd of mabs. Why the phlibbet do you think they've got us hunting around for Level Flux'rt planets? Just for fun? Accept it - Hoob is a dying sport. There just ain't all that many empty waterbodies left that can hold a whole Hoob court anymore."
"Yeah, but still. It'll be a hell of a loss."
"Yeah. And that was a great game we had. I really needed to get off this bloody gammacraft and kick back."
"I really needed you to get off this bloody gammacraft too. It's not like I can open a window."
"Can't. No room left. You've got too many colonies of germs on you doing it for me."
"You're just a clean freak."
"You're just a barbarian."
"Look, I don't like perfumes. They give me a rash. And I never... crap."
"You never crap? Well that explains a lot. Obviously you're full of it by this point."
"Did you take my socks?"
"Uh, excuse me - you're wearing them."
"No, not these socks. My Hoob socks."
"Are you crazy? I wouldn't touch your Hoob socks with a 10-foot yarber stick. I'm pretty sure they could stand up on their own."
"They're not in my Hoob bag."
"What? They've gotta be. Look again."
"I've looked. They're not there."
"Oh no. Please, please tell me you didn't leave them there. You did wait until after gammalock to take off your Yerz-Block® and pack them away, right? They're on this ship, right? Right?!?"
"Um. Well. I kind of had an itch."
"It was a really bad itch. I couldn't wait."
"YOU TOOK YOUR HOOB SOCKS OFF TO SCRATCH AN ITCH?"
"A bad one."
"Crap. Oh crap."
"Oh, come on. It's nothing to worry about. The chances of anything happening are close to zilph. It's just a silly precaution."
"Look, we just won't tell anyone, everything will stay the same, and nobody will be the wiser."
"And if you're wrong?"
"If I'm wrong, maybe a pond or two gets a little gooier than usual before the radiation wipes them out."
"And if not?"
[more awkward silence]
"Actually, you know what? You're right, Broosh'l. It's over, it's done, let's both forget about it. I'm just freaking out needlessly."
"Yeah, it's no big deal, right? Just a pair of stinky Hoob socks. I mean, really - what's the worst that could happen?"
make idle gossip (7 comments so far)
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