“Still, I’d ‘ate to be the one who caused it, even if ye can shake it off in a beat or two,” the great white insisted before his eyes studied the saw fastened into the other’s grip. The shark arches a brow, though he learned a long time ago to not question logic too often in Toontown. Logic, physics, and all sorts of usual rules were bent, broken, and shattered beyond the tunnel walls. 

“Think a lil’ saw like that’s gonna help?” Bruce asked. “If ye get it warped out a bit for me to get a grip with my jaws, I can be ‘f more help.”

“Oh?”

The Repairman was a bit surprised at the idea of Bruce handling this saw. Still, it made sense; the great white was probably stronger and could push the saw further.

“All right,” he decided, “hang on a sec.”

He began to pull at the handle a bit, and then his hands became a blur. Faint balloon noises could be heard.

When the inkblot finally stopped, the handle was far larger, and rounded out to fit a shark’s mouth.

He held the saw out to Bruce, handle-first.

“This work?”