Go fetch the goons. Come back to get them all.

(Originally authored by Stefene)

Franklin scuttles back to his truck chuckling with quiet glee, almost unable to believe his luck. He needs reinforcements, he decides. Maybe he couldn't trust 'em on their own, but those idiots could manage to block entrances and hold guns anyway. He is so excited he almost doesn't see the sheriff's deputy car in time to slow down. He would have overtaken it doing twice the speed limit if he hadn't noticed.

He angrily tells himself to keep his mind on business. The girls aren't captured just yet! He drives more carefully the rest of the way, pulling in in front of the rundown shack next door to his mansion.

Phredd is sleeping on the porch, a jug of mead next to him. The doctor kicks him awake.

"Hrumm! Whatcha doin'! Who's kickin' me!" the dwarf gripes as he comes awake, blinking off the **** and looking around.

Franklin orders, "Get your drunken ass up and go fetch Fred. We have work to do. Bring your shotguns!"

The ugly little being (which doesn't look vaguely as cute as any of the famous seven, not even Grumpy) hrumphs and stands up (which makes him about five inches taller than lying down, thanks to how fat he is) and stomps into the shack.

"Fred! Get your keister out here! Boss wants us!"

In about ten minutes, after many retries (showing up with shotguns but no ammo, then ammo and no shotguns, then reuben sandwiches and a six-pack), Phredd the Dwarf and Fred the Hunchback stand before Franklin with 12-gauges and a box of spare ammo.

"Excellent. Get in the cab. I'm driving."

After they're on their way, Phredd asks, "What we huntin' Boss?"

"We're fetching some girls for an experiment."

Fred gives out his moronic chuckle, one of the few good communication skills he has. Franklin notes that apparently he knows what girls are. That could come in handy.