Z: So these termites, they're, they're pushovers, right?
Barbatus: Not really, kid. They're five times our size, and they shoot acid from their foreheads.
Z: Huh?!
[Z stops marching, gaping in disbelief. As the next rank of soldiers comes up behind him, a soldier gives Z a shove.]
Soldier: Hey! Keep it movin', shorty!
[Later, as the ant army is marching towards the termites' nest]
Z: So, what exactly does our platoon do? Are we gonna be serving beverages, or processing paperwork?
Barbatus: Our platoon has the best assignment of all. We're the first into battle.
[...]
Z: [panicked] Hey, wait a minute, let's not get... we're being too hasty here! These guys sound like bruisers! Just how were you figuring on beating them?!
Barbatus: Superior numbers, kid. Overwhelm their defenses, and kill their queen.
Z: [stammering] I, um... Hey, fellas, that's... you're being a little extreme, I feel. Why don't... why don't we just try and influence their political process with campaign contributions?
Barbatus: [laughing] I like you, kid. You got a sense of humor!
Ant Officer: Companies! Forward!
Barbatus: Come on! Let's kick some termite butt!
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