WTFH

SIMMONS: I am perfectly capable of walking on my own without your pushing, you stupid squirrels! I said I'd read your [feedback]-ing news, now stop touching me!

...You can stop touching me too, Donut.

DONUT: Oh, sorry. You should really be more specific.

SIMMONS: Don't touch me, ever. That specific enough for you?

DONUT: Fiiiiiiiine but when you get shot in the head and need CPR don't go complaining to me.

SIMMONS: That doesn't even make sense you stupid idiot!

DONUT: Grif's right, you really need to learn how to control that fiery Latin temper.

SIMMONS: I'M DUTCH-IRISH!

DONUT: Who are you, Jessica Alba? Embrace your Latino side.

SIMMONS: You're going to be embracing my fist with your face if you don't shut up.

DONUT: You know, I thought you were going to go somewhere else with that fist comment.

SIMMONS: I was, but then I was afraid you'd take it as a come on-OW! The back of my head!

DONUT: I think the squirrels want you to try their acorns. Either that or they're pissed you called them stupid.

SIMMONS: Just start reading the news, Donut.

( So an effeminate guy and a cyborg walk into a radio station... )

DONUT: I really don't think the squirrels appreciated you calling them stupid earlier, Simmons.

SIMMONS: Why do you say that?

DONUT: I think the glares and the fact they're pointing sharp pencils at you is a giveaway. Oh, and they've been secretly duct taping you to your chair for the whole broadcast.

SIMMONS: WHAT?! Donut, get me out of here!

DONUT: Er, I gotta go...do laundry. Bye!

SIMMONS: It's not even Tuesday! Get back he-OW! The front of my face!

*there's a loud thumping noise and then radio feedback*

[I...don't even have an excuse for this madness. Just accept my deepest apologies]