Bumblebee: I'm telling you, something's wrong with Prowl. There's no way he'd act like this normally.
Ironhide: I'm tellin' you, it doesn't matter. He's out of control. Someone's gotta do somethin'.
Grimlock: Me, Grimlock, telling Ironhide and Bumblebee, he make good commander.
Bumblebee: Uh...we'll see about that, big guy.
Ironhide: Meantime, we gotta take care of Prowl.
Momma Deer: ....
On Patrol...
Sunstreaker: You had enough of a break yet.
Sideswipe: I guess. Base was getting to be a real drag lately, but we aught to be getting back.
Sunsteaker: Then let's follow our noses to those losers.
The Advent Calendar...
Jetfire: Welcome to our little camp.
Hound: At least I didn't screw today up. I'm sure Santa's regretting putting me in charge.
Cyclonus: Whoever this Santa is, I must agree. You have made it exceedingly simple for me to take the infants from you. Hand them over. Now.
Rocky: Don't think so, chuffa. No one puts 'is 'ands on me boy or me mates.
Cyclonus: Get off me, you disgusting flesh-sack.
Cyclonus: I'll be back.
Nightstick: Wait!
Rocky: Git back 'ere, ya tossa!
Nightstick: Uhhh....
Hound: Alright! I'm sick of you Deceptidolts messing with me and this calendar. Now, talk!
Nightstick: Ha. Ain't happening, Autojerk,
No comments:
Post a Comment