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( He's making a list, he's checking it twice )
SNOWBALL FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!
[The feed captures the CES, snowy, hilly, and covered in pine forests. The place is a regular winter wonderland: in fact it's Gstaad, Switzerland, a ski resort with the chateau and lift stripped away. A series of snowballs, thrown rapid-fire against the trunk of a pine tree, explode into icy powder as Archer laughs.] Yes! Still pitching like the world's manliest top!
So I've been waiting to say this since I was, like, three. I AM DECLARING WAR ON THE CITIZENS OF THIS DIMENSION.
Okay, here's what we're doing. SNOWBALL WAR IN THE CES, BITCHES. Grab your friends, grab your warden, and grab a handful of snow and try to kick some ass. Bring it home like it's Pizza Hut, guys, or the fight's coming to the halls. The winners get everlasting glory and valor! The losers get mocked into oblivion!
And, seriously. Like half you assholes don't want to see me lose.
Which I won't. Because, uh, duh.
[There's a slight pause in which that line of thought ends, giving the feed an uninterrupted and rather pretty alpine winter image. Then it blurs as he takes off running somewhere, catching his voice as he darts off:]
SCOTT'S ON MY TEAM!
SNOWBALL FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!
[The feed captures the CES, snowy, hilly, and covered in pine forests. The place is a regular winter wonderland: in fact it's Gstaad, Switzerland, a ski resort with the chateau and lift stripped away. A series of snowballs, thrown rapid-fire against the trunk of a pine tree, explode into icy powder as Archer laughs.] Yes! Still pitching like the world's manliest top!
So I've been waiting to say this since I was, like, three. I AM DECLARING WAR ON THE CITIZENS OF THIS DIMENSION.
Okay, here's what we're doing. SNOWBALL WAR IN THE CES, BITCHES. Grab your friends, grab your warden, and grab a handful of snow and try to kick some ass. Bring it home like it's Pizza Hut, guys, or the fight's coming to the halls. The winners get everlasting glory and valor! The losers get mocked into oblivion!
And, seriously. Like half you assholes don't want to see me lose.
Which I won't. Because, uh, duh.
[There's a slight pause in which that line of thought ends, giving the feed an uninterrupted and rather pretty alpine winter image. Then it blurs as he takes off running somewhere, catching his voice as he darts off:]
SCOTT'S ON MY TEAM!
