CREATURE FEATURE

We now join "If It Moves, Shoot It!" already in progress.

Cmd. Gray Samson- I hate the woods. Times like this, I feel like I'm still in 'Nam.

Grunt- Sir, we've traced the creature to here.

Samson- Where?

Grunt- Down there.

*low foreboding rumbling emanates from hole in the ground*

Samson- Organize your men. We're going in hot. Hot as hell. Which is exactly where we're sending that creature.

Colt Thompson- You're a special kind of stupid, aren't you?

Samson- Look nameless drifter-

Colt- It's Colt Thompson. Look, its stitched on my shirt. C-o-l-t. Coooolt.

Samson- The day I let some man with his name stitched into his shirt tell me what to do is the day I turn in my gun.

Colt- That monster, whatever it is, has already killed three of your special forces guys, the local gun nut-

Samson- Survival specialist.

Colt- Whatever, AND an entire sorority mid-pillow fight. The scientist already said conventional weapons are going to hurt it.

Samson- Science. This creature, whatever it is, is older than any of your science, son. So why don't you go cover your head with a little white jacket while we finish this creature once and for all. Saddle up men! We're going down!

Colt- You certainly are.

Samson- Look tough guy with a potentially shady and or tragic past, you're lucky you're not part of my unit. I'd have you cleaning latrines for a year.

Colt- I am lucky I'm not part of your unit, I don't enjoy being lead to my death.

Samson- Ehhhh darn hippie. Let's go men!

Grunt 2- Time to lock and load!

Grunt 3- Let's Get-r-done!

Grunt 4- Verily ho!

*gunfire and loud roaring come from hole. Soldiers begin running out at an alarming speed. Samson crawls his way out of the hole. Colt looks down at him*

Colt- Help you?

Samson- Give me a hand.

*Colt grabs Samson by the arm, only to have a giant claw come out of the hole, ripping the rest of Samson down into the dark. Colt holds the arm for a moment before dropping it and lighting a cigarette*

Colt- Looks like you gave ME a hand.
[Fade]