In 1982, a crack Antarctic scientific unit was eaten/absorbed/greeted by an alien life form. This alien promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground.

Today, still wanted by the government, he/she/it/they survive as soldier(s)/scientist(s)/ambassador(s)/detective(s) of fortune.

If you have a problem, if no-one else can help, if you don't mind the odd tentacle dog, and if you can find it/them/we/us/you...

maybe you can hire/embrace/become

The Thing Team

This entire joke was a riff on "the street finds it's own uses for things", which I then immediately forgot.

This is what it's like inside my head. You're welcome.

@natecull I love it when a plan comes together in the way a slime mold comes together

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