Buzz: *inhales deeply* Ah, I love the smell of a middle child’s crushing despair in the morning.
Tank: Dad… he’s doing it again.
Buzz: Now you listen here, you little puke; no son of mine is going to cry like a bitch in the front yard in broad daylight in the middle of the desert where our incredibly - nay, indescribably - manly (SO MANLY RIPP JUST LOOK AT IT ITS MADE ENTIRELY OF WOOD WHEN WILL YOUR FAVES) training equipment has to see it! Tank! Tank, where are you going? Something wrong with your eyes, Tank? Is it the pepper spray again, son?
Tank: IT’S YOUR RAGE, DAD. YOUR DISPROPORTIONATE, OCCASIONALLY PSYCHOTIC, OFTEN UNPROVOKED AND ALWAYS TERRIFYING TO WITNESS RAGE. IT’S JUST SO BEAUTIFUL IT HURTS TO LOOK AT BRB HIDING MY SHAME FROM THE TRAINING EQUIPMENT.
Buzz: Now look what you did, Ripp! You made your desperate-for-approval brother cry and now he’ll never get anything from me but contempt. Are you happy, Ripp? Was it worth it? Now I have to go cut your brother out of the will. Thanks, Ripp. Thanks so much for allllll of your contributions to this family, what would we even do without you.
And so it begins.
I totally agree, the Grunts are like Strangetown’s version of the Pleasants. :P And this kind of dysfunction is hilarious!