Right, Wiggs, we have enough for a team. Let's fucking get this done. Hankins and Rob, you're forming the takedown team. Rob is over 6ft so Brian can easily hide behind him and jump out to shoot for a double-leg when we are close.
Obviously, Hankins is going to eat about 20 punches to the face from this thing while he's lunging like an Egyptian mummy, but that's fine—he's taking one for the team so I can flank this fucker with a no-hands cartwheel then put its lights out with a corkscrew uppercut.
From here, Gym Rat is in charge of waterboarding it with a steady stream of frothy, dark-brown piss while interrogating it baselessly about possible support for Biden. Rob, word on the street is you're packing an 8-inch dick, so I'm going to need you to jump in here and fuck his ass—the alien's, not Brian's (sorry). It's important that we really exacerbate the shock of capture, so I'm counting on Taffin to rush in at this point and really hit him with an eyeful of cum.
Wiggs, I'm relying on your medical skills now. We need you to administer sedatives so we can get this thing out of the cave before it wakes up and kills us all. No point in using the rectal route as Rob's already left it looking like a wind tunnel. Hook up an IV of diazepam while we get the stretcher ready. Once we are all out of the cave and back in daylight, we can start figuring out how the fuck we are going to explain what we just did to a Vietnamese rice farmer with an unfortunate skin condition.
