! (go watch him now!) Don't I look intimidating? No? Ah well! I wrote a blurb to go with it!
"The real world isn't big enough for two toons, Runner!" Dr. Frisk E. Coyote growled at Wreck Runner in what was their third face off in the real world. He tried to be as intimidating as he could, deepening his voice, wielding his mallet, but there was a limit to how intimidating a little guy like him could be.
The roadrunner smirked and tightened his crash helmet with a toe-claw before smoothing out his red crest, "Is it just me, or did your mallet get smaller?"
"W-waaarf!" The coyote barked and blushed, tightening his grip on the tool, "I-it's cold out here!"
Wreck laughed, amused by the coyote's insecurity! "It's the academy showers all over again, Coyote! Why don't you make it easier for the both of us and stick to building stuff like a catapult we BOTH know ain't gonna work?"
Frisk grit his teeth together and gave his snagglefang a little lick, "Warf! Not today, Wreck! Today, I'm gonna turn you from a roadrunner... into a road-GONER!" He barks again, and thunder booms overhead to accentuate the conflict in the most melodramatic way possible. "Do you hear epic music? Cuz I hear epic music."
"All I hear is the audience laughing at you."
The coyote wagged his tail, "Ah-HA! So I AM funny!"
The roadrunner shook his head, "The word I'm looking for is pathetic. You were never funny."
It took all Frisk had to keep his lower lip from trembling. He wanted to say something about how in this world, HE was the hero, not Wreck. In this world, who honestly liked the Roadrunner over Wile E. Coyote? He wanted to tell Wreck that he was the underdog against the roadrunner, and the underdogs got all the support. When you're a toon, support meant everything! But when he barked it all out, it came out in two words:
"Fuck. You."
Wreck Runner blinked, his lower-beak dropping. "[BEEP] me!? You can't swear!! You're a TOON!!"
"I have an M-Rating License, Wreck! Remember? I had to get one so I could tell naughty jokes, because I wasn't funny enough!" The coyote grinned, tossing his mallet over his shoulder, "Do you know what they call heroes who always win and get their way around here? Boring. You're boring. You're gonna humiliate me and get away just like you do every single time, and these people are gonna hate you for it. You're no Bugs Bunny! Or Jerry! Or Woody Woodpecker! Your gimmick is to run and leave me in the dust!" The coyote laughed, "It gets old, Runner! You're old news and I have the Power of Expletives!"
"Careful, Frisk." The roadrunner lowered his helmeted noggin and scratched at the ground, preparing to charge at him, "You're messing with formulae that can't ever be changed. I'm gonna- WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!?" He straightened up again, staring in abstract horror at the pink, spiky, oversized phallic object the coyote now held like a baseball bat.
"My new mallet." Frisk snickers, smirking deviously at his arch-nemesis, "It's going up your hammerspace."
And so the spectacularly anticlimactic battle of brains, brawns and dildos begins.
