Your evil hamster army won’t stop chewing up their adorable little AK-47s and it’s starting to piss you off.
You didn’t spend fourteen hundred dollars at PetCo buying a thousand hamsters so that they could not use their painstakingly crafted miniature automatic weapons to help you pull the cutest, fuzziest heist in history. Yet, here they are, nibbling on their tiny Kalashnikovs like they’re fucking chew toys instead of the most trusted assault rifle ever developed.
Time to remind these assholes who’s in command here.
“First Sergeant Puddles!” you shout at the large grey Syrian hamster at the head of the crowd. You've dressed him in a eensy weensy beret with chevrons on the front. “You’re in charge here! How can you let your men take such piss-poor care of their weapons?” First Sergeant Puddles does not respond, unless he was trying to tell you something with that poop he took. You wouldn’t put it past the insubordinate bastard.
Nearby, two small brown dwarf hamsters tug back and forth on a miniaturized M60. You knew that because of their small size, they would have difficulty with their own automatic weapons, but mounted and crew-served weapons would be right up their cute little alleys. “Corporal Squeaks! Private Cheeks! No rough-housing with the weapons!” you bark.
Private Cheeks, started by your order, rolls over onto his back and puts his feet in the air defensively. “What the hell is that, soldier? You will stand at attention when being addressed by an officer!” You poke him on the belly with your index finger because you just can’t help it. “Next time the punishment will be far more severe, private!”
You’ll whip these furballs into shape yet.