Amidst the violent lance play, Jesus terminals Miller

[Jesus pulls needle and thread from some secret pocket inside his filthy robes. He sets the golden-skinned FN HAMR on the desktop and he rises, shoving the combat glasses firm against his red-rimmed eyes, shielding out this nasty scene and its stabbing rays of fantastic ridiculousness. He's shaking his head as he climbs over the debre toward Rorschalk] This is one messed up circus you're ringleading here, Mr. Rorschalk. One might ask, how do you sleep at night, eh? [Jesus feels about his person. He reaches into his robes and pulls out Chris Miller's cap. He hikes over to the tube, passes his hand over the lid, tracing the form of a cross, and the lid magically snaps open and a great whooooooosh begins to moan from the mouth of the tube. Jesus jams the cap up the tube, and he takes effortful steps toward Rorschalk]

Oh, and as an aside, I'm happy to say that Chris Miller's Elephant Walk has been Terminaled.

[He pops the wad of thread into his mouth. The needle he holds is rather thick and long. He reaches into his mouth and tweezers the tip of the thread and pulls its slick length from his lubricating maw. He threads the fat needle with the moistened 40-weight thread and advances on Rorschalk]

Don't worry, Mr. Rorschalk. I know what I'm doing.

[He grabs hold of Rorschalks pant waist and tugs its fasteners free, and with one swift motion he pulls the blue-haired, snaggle-toothed boss man's pants down to his ankles. Rorschalk, during all this, has given no protest, but has rather stood there dumbly, awestruck by Jesus's focus and authority. Now Jesus crouches before Rorschalk, needle and thread in hand, and an awkward silence ensues. After a few moments, Jesus stands and backs away]

Um. Yeah, um. I'd really rather stitch you up after you kind of, well, you know, salt your slug, Mr. Rorschalk. Maybe you should consider underwear, sir. I mean, you know, for hygiene's sake.