That terrorist we had chained up in the basement last week, Papa and I decided to have some fun with ‘em. We took that terrorist some deep down in the hollow, we knew he would never find his way out. Papa and I sat on the front porch and listened to the terrorist yell and scream nearly all night. The critters had a hard time catch ‘em. The terrorist; we gave him a sporting chance. Gave him some homemade bombs made out of ole Number #9. I think the terrorist drank the bombs. Papa and I agreed that had to be the only reason it took the critters all night to take ‘em down. Papa said about morning .. Dang why did we waist all that whiskey?
Or even better, maybe it was a Revenoor terrorist. Was it?