A nervous humility settled over the Tyrumposaurus, his smug pomposity leaving him for its rightful owner, the resolute puppet master squatting nearby.
“You have a Cybersaurus sniffing in my backyard,” said the Putinodon. “Deep in my backyard.”
The Linseygraham’s tail slapped down hard on the flat rock. Twice. The Sin Hut Hearing was in session. The toady Williambarr and his indelible frown squatted before the Donkeykongrus and Grandoldparty Sin Hutters. His prospects indeed looked grim.