BOOKER: Mother of God.
BOOKER: Harold, you beautiful bastard!
BOOKER: A cavern of bags. A cavern!
BOOKER: I think I might be a little out of my depth.
BOOKER: Alright, Booker, calm your shit. You’ve done the LEGO circuit before. This ain’t no problem. Let’s get these damn bags in order.
BOOKER: Good. Just the bags with a one on them. Basics. Still a fucking shitload, though.
BOOKER: Focus. Step one. Easy. Gray, flat blocks. Piece of piss.
BOOKER: Yup. No problem.
BOOKER: Bam. Not many more to go.
A LITTLE LATER…
BOOKER: Ow my bones.
BOOKER: I need a peon.
BOOKER: Fortunately, the set comes with some. Let’s see here…
BOOKER: Jesus. What’s with the dead, glassy-eyed stare? That cold, killers smile? This upsets me.
BOOKER: I hope I’m not giving birth to a monster.
BOOKER: Right. Hello. I’m Booker. I’m your Dad, sort of.
BOOKER: Uh. Go forth and … build the thing.
BOOKER: Wow, that actually worked?
BOOKER: Shit! I can probably take a nap or something. Look at him go!
BOOKER: But first, let us create more children.
BOOKER: I grant thee the blessing of bullshit.
BOOKER: You alright?
BOOKER: Shit! Back off! Go and build the thing!
BOOKER: Jesus wept. These LEGOdrones are feisty.
BOOKER: Oh, huh. They’ve built a pub. Pool table, darts, invisible bar … everything about this is good.
BOOKER: Oh shit. Are they going to bar fight?
BOOKER: Shit! Go Team Pool Cue! Get him!
BOOKER: Beat him to death! Kill your brother! Your Father demands it!
BOOKER: No, don’t help him up! Kill! Murder! Destroy!
BOOKER: Ah, well. It was good while it lasted.
BOOKER: Harold super needs to see this shit. Violent LEGO people are straight up his alley.
HAROLD: Mother of God.
HAROLD: Booker, you beautiful bastard!
BOOKER: You’re acting like you don’t know what you sent me to review.
HAROLD: I didn’t!
BOOKER: Well then, yeah. It’s a pub. A bar. A boozer. These are all good things.
HAROLD: Let’s go get wasted, then.
BOOKER: Sorry, can’t.
HAROLD: Why not?
BOOKER: Because there’s no bars or any glasses.
HAROLD: Then what’s the fucking point?
BOOKER: You can play pool. And darts. And the generic Lego dudes that hang around here are psychopathic.
HAROLD: Psychopathic Lego dudes?
BOOKER: Yeah, those dudes. They built this place. Now they just kinda stand there, inanimate. They had a fight once, it was rad.
HAROLD: So you didn’t build this place?
BOOKER: I mean. I laid the paving out front.
HAROLD: You’re a lazy prick.
BOOKER: Ha, I’ll drink to that!
HAROLD: I thought you said there were no glasses.
BOOKER: I lied. There’s only one and I didn’t want you making a beeline straight for it.
HAROLD: Want to go halvesies on it?
BOOKER: Do I fuck. It’s only a prop anyway, I told you – there’s no bar.
HAROLD: So these are the psychopathic Lego dudes that you were talking about?
BOOKER: No, Harold, you dumb fuck. I already showed you them. These ones are different. New.
BOOKER: Ready to birth new life?
HAROLD: I dunno, I’m kinda nervous. What if I don’t do it right?
BOOKER: You just have to put a head on, Harold. It’s not rocket science.
HAROLD: Hey Booker, look! My guy has the same hair as you! Good job that he doesn’t have your ugly mug too, ho ho!
BOOKER: Just put the fucking head on, Harold.
HAROLD: Booker, these guys look pretty normal. Look! A cop and a barber. They’re actually kinda cute! How could you call ’em psychopathic?
BOOKER: I’ve seen shit, Harold. You really ought to be trusting me on this one.
HAROLD: Bullshit! What’s up, barber guy? I’m Harold, but you can call me Pa! We’re gonna have a lot of fun together!
BOOKER: I swear to fuck, Harold…
HAROLD: Shit! Booker, you were right! The bastard is coming straight for me!
BOOKER: What did I tell you, Harold? I ought to let you die. It’d sure save me some bullshit.
HAROLD: Booker, please!
BOOKER: Fine. Go and build the thing, you bunch of mooks.
BOOKER: Alright. Off they go.
HAROLD: Fucking hell. I feel like a numpty now. I should’ve listened to you in the first place. What’s their deal, anyway?
BOOKER: I dunno. I figure that they’re simple creatures, you know? If they don’t have an order to follow, then all they’re wanna do is, well, murder. It’s like their base programming, you know?
HAROLD: Or in other words, they’re raging psychopaths when they don’t have a purpose.
BOOKER: In other words, Harold, I’m going back to the pub.
HAROLD: Why? There isn’t a drop of booze in there.
BOOKER: Jesus, Harold. I know that you’re practically an alcoholic, but beer isn’t the only thing that matters. We have a nice prop cup, a pool table, and a game of darts to play. How else are we gonna pass the time?
HAROLD: We could watch ’em build it? Help, maybe?
BOOKER: Get fucked, Harold. You aren’t going to take this easy job away from me.
HAROLD: Aww, shit! Hey, Booker! Come take a look at this!
HAROLD: They’ve gone and built the most adorable little barber shop! I’d get my hair cut in here, even it is only half finished!
HAROLD: Holy fuck! Look at ’em go! Go on, lady, kick his fuckin’ ass!
BOOKER: First of all, Harold, I don’t know why you’re getting so excited, because you ain’t got no hair to cut. Second, Harold, you better not be out there cheerin’ and yellin’ and being lackadaisical with that empty glass prop. Because you have a reputation for being a clumsy fuck, and if you break that glass, and take that bit of fun away from me, then, well…
BOOKER: It ain’t gonna end well for you.
BOOKER: Alright. It looks like they’re finished with the barber shop, Harold.
HAROLD: Hooray! No more darts!
BOOKER: The only reason that you don’t like it is because I keep kicking your ass with my sweet, consistent triples. And leave that damn glass inside this time, if you know what’s good for you.
HAROLD: Wow! This thing is even more amazing than before! It has a barber pole and everything now! And just look at that authentic, blocky Lego sign! It’s a treat for the eyes!
BOOKER: Calm down, Harold. Why did I even ask you to come out here anyway? I always forget that you get excited by the tiniest damn thing.
HAROLD: It’s not tiny, Booker! Like I said, just look at it! They’ve even got a pair of scissors on the sign and everything!
BOOKER: Harold, it’s a barber shop. I don’t know why I should be impressed by a pair of fucking scissors, it’s par for the course.
HAROLD: You’re such a spoilsport, Booker. 😦
HAROLD: Looks like the Lego people have gone dormant.
BOOKER: Yeah, that happens. They turn into nothing more than props, basically. At least that means that we don’t have to watch our backs. Honestly, that barber was making me feel pretty edgy with those scissors.
HAROLD: I wouldn’t have worried about it so much. The cop kicked his ass with a broom.
HAROLD: Booker, look! An alleyway! Finally, somewhere where we can do drugs inconspicuously!
BOOKER: You haven’t touched a drug in your life, Harold.
HAROLD: You called me a borderline alcoholic earlier.
BOOKER: Alcohol isn’t a drug, it’s a drink.
HAROLD: I didn’t even know that this place had a back area, too! Wow!
BOOKER: Harold, please, stop being so fucking enthusiastic. It’s starting to wear thin.
HAROLD: But Booker! This is an amazing product, we should enthuse about it!
BOOKER: Hey, come over here and see how enthused you are about this. This Lego set continues to be creepy as all shit.
BOOKER: There’s a pretty childish red baseball cap in the trash can.
HAROLD: Probably just some old trash that someone threw out.
BOOKER: No, Harold. It has blood on it. And it smells like fear.
BOOKER: It’s from one of their victims. This is why you need to curb your enthusiasm. We’re creating fucking monsters here.
HAROLD: Pretty sure that’s just a ketchup stain.
BOOKER: How would someone get ketchup on a hat, you moron?
HAROLD: Dunno. But if I know anything, it’s the difference between a ketchup stain and a blood stain. I used to launder my wife’s clothes fairly regularly.
BOOKER: Well in that case, then, you won’t have a problem creating another batch of little monsters to do our building bidding.
HAROLD: They’re not little, Booker! They’re the same size as us!
BOOKER: Stop being so fucking pedantic all of the time, otherwise I’m not inviting you out to play anymore.
HAROLD: Hey, look, Booker! Mine has a hat, too! Lookin’ pretty slick there, guy!
BOOKER: We can all see that he has a hat, Harold. Jesus Christ.
HAROLD: Hi there, folks!
BOOKER: Hot tamale.
BOOKER: Oh, dear. I appear to have fallen down. I’m pretty vulnerable right now.
HAROLD: Booker, no!
BOOKER: Oh, dearie me. I’m about to get choked. This is definitely not what I want.
HAROLD: Get off him! Both of you freaks, go build, go build!
HAROLD: Don’t worry, old chum, I’ve got your back.
BOOKER: For fuck sake, Harold.
BOOKER: I was enjoying that, dipshit.
HAROLD: But you were acting like it was the worst thing ever! You even said, and I quote, ‘this is definitely not what I want!’
BOOKER: It’s called role play, Howard, you fucking idiot. I didn’t want to put her off of the great job that she was doing. I could’ve died in her goddamn arms, I swear to God.
HAROLD: Oh. Sorry.
BOOKER: Yeah? Well, sorry ain’t good enough, Harold. I’m getting close to retirement age, and you know how many times I’ve told you that the only way I’m interesting in goin’ out is by being choked to death by a hot, psychopathic chick.
BOOKER: Oh, well. As punishment, Harold, you’re going to let me batter you for the next twelve hours at pool.
BOOKER: Alright, maybe twelve hours was a little too long. They’ve gone a built the whole thing underneath our noses. Knew we shouldn’t have taken that nap underneath the pool table.
HAROLD: Booker, chill. It’s fine. What’s done is done. Besides, now we have a whole two stories of Lego madness to explore! And I know you told me to stop being enthusiastic, but …
BOOKER: Yeah, you don’t have to say it. She’s a complete beaut.
HAROLD: And those bananas in the background, too! Phwoar! Proper ripe!
HAROLD: Well, here’s your first floor. Bit fuckin’ tight, ain’t it?
BOOKER: I think you’re missing the bigger picture, Harold.
BOOKER: Because, praise our lord – there’s finally a goddamn toilet that I can use! I’ve been holding in my shit for weeks!
BOOKER: Finally, I can cross the border and enter Dumptown, USA! Finally, yes, finally, I am takin’ the shit that I deserve!
HAROLD: You realise that the window there goes directly out onto the street, right?
BOOKER: Even fucking better, Harold! Even fucking better!
BOOKER:And, even better than the crapper – go a level up, and we’ve got a kitchen. Doesn’t have a toaster or a microwave, but that’s better than warming beans up on the engine of my car.
HAROLD: I don’t even have a car. Most nights, I submerge my cans of beans in hot marmot piss.
BOOKER: Well, no more piss beans for you, Harold! You’ve got an oven, now!
HAROLD: Technically, Booker, none of this is stuff is ours. I read the contracts, it’s specifically the property of that one Detective prop.
BOOKER: Ah, well. I got a way that we can figure that out. First, though, let’s check the roof out.
BOOKER:Hey, look, Harold! You can see your old house from up here! I wonder if your ex-wife is at home?
HAROLD:Is there really any need to be such an arsehole, Booker?
BOOKER: I’m still sore that you didn’t let that hot red-haired chick choke me out.
BOOKER: Anyway, look. You got a cat. Even though there’s barely enough room to swing a cat in that place.
HAROLD: What’s new pussy cat – woah, oh, woah!
BOOKER: And you seriously wonder why I’m an arsehole to you?
BOOKER: And finally, the pièce de résistance – a wonderful new office.
HAROLD: Holy moly I want this. I need this! I could stop working out of the damn park!
HAROLD: But I can’t. As I said before, it’s in the contracts.
BOOKER: And I told you, there’s a way around that.
HAROLD: I have a feeling that I’m not going to like this.
BOOKER: You’ll have to kill the detective.
HAROLD: What? But that’s sick, Booker! I can’t kill him! Besides, that’s more your thing! Can’t you just do it for me?
BOOKER: No, Harold. I’m bored and I want to see you do it. Besides, if you want this to be your office, you’ll have to work for it. Now, I know that you’re against the idea, but come on now, he’s just a prop. There’s no harm in tossing him off the top of the building. And he’s tried to kill you already, at least, when he was sentient. Far as I see it, it’s easy come, easy go.
HAROLD: But the window says ‘Ace Brickman’ on it.
BOOKER: So what? With a bit of sharpie, you can easily alter that. Or, you know, just take on his identity. Whatever works best for you, really. Personally, I’d go for keeping it, but offering a different service entirely, just to confuse people.
HAROLD: That sounds like a terrible business strategy.
BOOKER: Hey, I never said I was a good marketer. Now, come on, Harold – kill the detective! Kill him!
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER…
BOOKER: Wow, it is surprisingly easy to convince you to kill.
HAROLD: I really want that office, alright?
BOOKER: Well, if you really want it, then put your fucking back into dragging that guy up here. I’ve been stood at the top of these stairs for ten minutes waiting for your sorry old arse to hobble up them.
HAROLD: You could have helped, Booker. You have super strength.
BOOKER: I don’t give a shit! My papa made me work every day, strength or no strength, so I ain’t gonna start letting you get lazy on me now, Harold.
HAROLD: No wonder I am fucking bald.
BOOKER: Alright, alright, come on! Roll him off the edge! I want to see if he’ll make any noise when he hits the ground! You know, like a scream? We haven’t heard these guys say anything yet.
HAROLD: I’m trying, I’m trying! Here we go, he’s going over!
BOOKER: Well, that’s kinda weird. Didn’t make a noise. Didn’t scream. Didn’t even clatter on the ground. Just like … a feather, or something.
BOOKER: Harold! Hey, Harold! I’m saying interesting shit over here!
HAROLD: I’m never going to exercise ever again.
FIVE MINUTES LATER…
HAROLD: Ah, Booker. This was all worth it! This chair is pretty damn sweet!
BOOKER: Wow, Harold. It was worth killing a man for the sake of a comfy desk chair?
HAROLD: What? You told me to do it!
BOOKER: Yeah, precisely so that I could make you feel guilty about it afterward, Harold. That’s half the fun. I can’t believe that you killed that poor, innocent Lego man. Gone before his time. He was a crime solving Lego detective, too! A valuable contributor to society.
HAROLD: Shut the fuck up, Booker. So, what’s our next order of business?
BOOKER: I say that we toss this Lego chick off the roof, too. Hot she might be, but it’s kind of a liability keeping her around in your office. Me, I’d like to be choked out by her, but you? Yeah, I can’t see you enjoying that. Especially with how much your ex-wife complained about the bedroom being dull.
HAROLD: Fuck you, Booker. Just for that, I’m keeping her. I know that all you’d do is drag her body off of the sidewalk and … probably go and make her do things to you.
BOOKER: Please, Harold, I’m a gentleman. I’d never do such a thing.
HAROLD: Whatever. It’ll be fine. She’ll lay dormant just like the rest of ’em. Well. I guess that’s the end of the review then, isn’t it?
BOOKER: Was this really a review? I think they should call this one ‘Booker Builds’. I can’t really say that I’ve cast any critical opinion on this thing.
HAROLD: Eh, nah. We’ll call it ‘Booker Reviews’ – you gotta keep the brand consistent, haven’t you? If you want to get anywhere, anyway.
BOOKER: Don’t fuck with me, Harold. You know as well as I do that this isn’t ever going to go anywhere.
HAROLD: Eh, you’re probably right.
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