Whiskey one. Shoot. Whiskey two. Shoot. Whiskey three. Shoot
It had been four years since 5 star brigadier general Fire Tomahawk and last been to space to fight the atmosphere so it didn't keep leaving the sky. It was while he was up there that one day when he was at the moon that they were ambushed by the dinasaur aliens and killed real bad. Fire Tomahawk fought like a monkey with a boner and killed most the aliens. The rest of the aliens hopped on their space canoe and floated away into another dimension.
Whiskey four. Shoot. Whiskey five. Shoot.
"Hey, are you Brett Chaplin?"
The man sitting at the bar looked up, startled.
"Yo, are you Brett Chaplin?"
The vagrant old man at the bar looked up at the bar keep.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
"Somebody's on the line for you, make it quick.. this fucking guy is in DC. Less than a minute and I'll keep it off your tab."
"Hello, this is Brett Chaplin"
"Brett? Thank god. We know you've lost touch ever since the inexplicable accident that happened while you were testing nuclear weapons in space, but we need you back. We REALLY need you. We have these.. F-friends in my office, they say they need the most savage human being to help them win an intergalactic war. You were right Bret- I mean Fire Tomahawk. We thought you were crazy, but as it turns out... The dinosaur aliens keeping dropping down into the 5th dimensial planes in the macaroni and cheese honeworkld, and the casualties are absolutely delicious. Never mind! The Mac and cheeses want to let us keep any technology you use to take them out. They say they have something very special... They call it a...
Someone else finish this please.