Scapegoats of the Wholly, Metamoored-Prop'ortions

He beckoned me over. “I'd like you to have the honor, son.”

I came flying at him like a tennis ball, ricocheting off all remotely solid surfaces. Batman was giving the keys to Robin.

“What do I do!” I exclaimed.

“Just get behind her—name is Heschita—and just twirl her crank for 2 revolutions.”

As I gripped her chilly handle, I wondered aloud, “What's gonna happen?”

“It’s not loaded with run-of-the-mill shells. Hehe, It’ll--” but he spluttered to a halt to caution me of something. “Now I only use this for exceptional purchases. I don’t use it for my personal enjoyment. Ever. Understand? DEFCON 1 rarely pops up. In the future we will not use it to go on joy rides or anything so senseless, unless this town becomes rife with monstrosities. Agreed?”