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A Worse Idea 133

Anne stood there, staring dumbfounded at the walking human-like sperm.

Jizz Man didn’t stand still. Instead, he walked around Prometheus’s garage. His examination had a quiet, wide-eyed quality.

Sharise stood in the garage, much like Anne. There was, however, one big difference. She wasn’t dumbfounded.

Hell no. This Jizz Man had been around for less than five minutes, and she was already 1,000% done with his shit.

“Look,” she yelled. “Jizz Man. You’re gross. Your very existence pisses me the fuck off. And if you touch me, I will consider it a sex crime. But believe it or not, I’ve got bigger problems right now. There are some killers coming to kill us and shit. So I’ve got one question for you. Are you gonna help us out?”

“Before you answer, lemme make one thing real clear,” she continued. “This isn’t Sharise’s Orphanage for Weird-Ass Jizz Babies, okay? If you aren’t gonna help us I am throwing you the fuck out.”

The whole time during Sharise’s speech, Jizz Man stood silent, his white, pupil-less eyes wide open.

He shook his head yes.

“Gross,” Anne said.

“I’m about to throw you out of this garage myself, Anne,” Sharise said.

“Honestly I might prefer it.” A grenade broke through the garage window. Anne — wearing one of Prometheus’s mech suits — jumped towards the grenade. She grabbed it and hurled it back out the window.

It exploded outside the garage.

“Please don’t make me go out there,” she said.

“Mhm,” Sharise said.

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