The Plym Reaper
[THE ROB holds bottles with napkins stuffed in them.]
THE ROB: Okay, I brought Molotovs.
BRANDO: Nobody asked for those! Also, they’re just Zimas with napkins.
PANEL 2 A:
JAY: PLYMOUTH, you corporatized our pub, man!
PANEL 2 B:
PLYMOUTH: I liberated it. From inefficiency and poor taste.
PANEL 3
[JAY points with determination. Plymouth looks unimpressed.]
JAY: Then we settle this the old-fashioned way—a ROCK OFF. Winner gets the pub.
PLYMOUTH: Hah! I never lose. But I won’t lower myself to perform.
PANEL 4
[FLOPTIMOUS looms in the background, ominous and glowing.]
PLYMOUTH: My champion will rock in my place… [t-shirt on FLOPTIMOUS reads: HELLO WORLD TOUR]
TREY: Fuck!
