I just. I can’t even.
This is… It’s beyond unacceptable.
It’s unbearable. Criminal. Baffling.
- What are you doing?
These Grenades are as big as my Spartan’s be-helmetted noggin for the love of Bornstellar Makes Eternal Lasting!
What the hell are we lobbing around with wild abandon? Miniaturised Tactical Nukes?
Sure, maybe if I wasn’t such an utterly incompetent, dribbling degenerate, I might spend less time looking at my Spartan’s corpse as a solitary, morbidly obese, grenade bumbles mockingly past my dirt eating face, presumably on its way to another, all you can eat shrapnel buffet.
But it is by the very sacrifice of my own, finite, dignity, that I alone stand as Arbiter of The Grenade Weight Loss Prophets, and in my shame I proselytize any who hear my cry, with nasty, newly burned on squiggle, placed there by Greg and his hot stick of squiggle burnination:
“Grenades the size of my head are clearly a war crime! My Spartan is terrified to carry the damn things for fear of what body part they might suddenly disassociate given one errant twitch against their bulbous, almost Flood-Infestedly grotesque carcass!”
I leave you with this, the plight of a horribly traumatised Spartan.
Thank you for attending my TED talk.