I blankly stared at your half baked form, reminiscent of a melting wax statue.

“This don’t work,” I said, patting you into shape like a kid with a sandcastle. “You gotta be more tall!”

After a couple of rolls and twists, irregardless of your protests, you were molded to the likeness of our brother…..except for the feet. Or lack there of.

“I guess we can say you were partially dipped in a freak accident twenty years ago and never got your feet redrawn.”

We heard a few punches landing behind us and Greasy emerged with a wheelchair. “Sorry Mr. Swanson,” sneered Greasy. “You can get the Family guy animators to draw you a new wheelchair. Official police business!”

“Here,” Greasy said, “Sit in this. I guess we’re….ready to roll.”

-Smartass

“Ow–Hey!–What’re you–!?–”

The Repairman struggled and protested, but at least he was looking more like a weasel.

He cringed at the Dip story, but he just sighed and took the wig and jacket. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long.

He jumped a bit as he heard the fisticuffs, the wig being flung out of place as he did so. It turned out to be the green weasel. Who apparently stole it from Swanson.

He was beginning to wonder if he’d be better off spending a day downtown. At least he’d have a form he was used to.

He clambered into the wheelchair, and tried to smile for the weasels.

“So, what now?” he asked, in a falsely cheerful voice.