By Toby McCasker on May 29, 2013 at 11:04 am
When the bullets are flying thick and fast like swarms of flies with knives, I don’t like being out there by myself. I want a brotatoe at my side. Not only do the odds of being killed by a knife-fly go from 100% to 50% (maybe 25% if the brotatoe in question is really into potatoes, fried ones) but there may come a time when I would prefer not to stab-tackle a madman strapped with bombs through a plate glass window and would instead like Frank Woods to do it for me.
Many such brotatoes have similarly saved my ass with their badass, but after much ado about eating chips and thinking, I have realised my fave brotatoe is not a bro at all, but a sister.