Air Force Gator 2: Scales of Justice
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In this sequel to the revolutionary Air Force Gator, eight years have passed since the Crocodile Rock incident that almost irrevocably damaged the United States. Since saving the country on that day, Air Force Gator’s legendary status has grown to unseen heights. His strength is magnified after being exposed to the chemical GatorAid. He’s dating a super hot stripper. Once a desperate and alcoholic whoremonger, the alligator pilot has finally found peace.
When President Obama organizes a rally on the National Mall to honor the inaugural Air Force Gator Day, the heroic reptile plans on announcing his retirement from military duty. His dreams of a quiet retirement come crashing down around him when a fringe group of radical reptiles led by an evil pig farmer interrupts the festivities and carries out a massive terrorist attack. Devastated by the increasingly personal attacks of the Sons of Gustav, it’s time for Gator to lace up his boots again and bring the pain.
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The crocodile's head used to be was a jawbone and a pile of teeth. Taking a moment to survey the damage around him, Gator counted over twenty dead crocodiles in the surrounding dirt. His count was a rough estimate, as most of them had been reduced to a red mist that hung in the air of Van Buren's base. Gator expected more of a resistance, but no other signs of life made themselves apparent as he scanned the bloody scene. Through the dust and blood, Air Force Gator heard the noise of a bell.
Hospital, Air Force Gator had moved to the nearby barracks. Layfield spent entire days asking questions as Air Force Gator did push-ups, bench pressed hundreds of pounds, and enthusiastically thumbed through titty magazines. Some vague memories of his time in Venezuela had resurfaced, but they typically revolved around his treatment rather than the pig farmer's words. With presumably little time to act before Van Buren's strike, the situation was becoming more dire. Today, Layfield found himself.
"Y'all gonna be real scared when you start fallin', but you'll be safe on the ground. As soon as those people see the Spirit, they're gonna be scramblin' to get out of that stadium." The pigs stared wordlessly at their owner. "You all remember your jobs, right?" Van Buren asked as he held up a crudely-drawn picture. It consisted of several pigs blocking a doorway as stick figures were engulfed in flames behind them. "You find all the exits and block 'em up real good. That way, everyone's stuck.
Had the attention of the crowd at the Bingo Palace, but they remained skeptical of his intentions. Other humans had tried to exploit the reptiles for political or personal gain in the years since they arrived, and they had learned to distrust mankind. “Bein’ the reptile-lovin’ kid that I was, you can imagine how I felt when I heard about that croc Gustav and what he did out there in the ocean. Finally, I saw someone with a brain like mine. Someone that wanted reptiles to get what was comin’ to.
Eight months since their human leader stepped off the bus in New Orleans, they had grown from a disenfranchised group of mutants to a deadly force with more money than they knew how to spend. These Sons of Gustav were the spectre that hung over this day on the National Mall. At an event that was meant to celebrate one alligator's heroic accomplishments, everyone in attendance knew the challenges the nation was facing and often ignoring. Despite Van Buren’s constant pleas to cable news, state.