Hey, kid, youse supposed to bring lettuce. That’s the trouble with you youngsters: selfish!
Hey, who are you calling ‘kid’? I’m seventy-seven—
Seventy-seven! When I was seventy-seven, hell, if I can remember that far back, but I bet my shell was shinier than those duds youse wearing, kid. Hell, where’d you get them, anyway.
What’s wrong with these clothes?!
Well, they’re not hard for a start, kid. How you gonna protect yourself from the enemy? I bet you can’t even get your head back in that hole!
Oh, wanna bet?!
Right! …erm…people are looking.
(99 words – a dialogue only challenge)
Here we see the tables turned. Normally, it is we bipedal, mammalian, cerebral soft-cores doing the abusing: painting go faster stripes along their shells, stuffing them in shoe boxes over winter, riding on their backs when they’re well over a hundred and fifty five. We ought to respect them more. They are an evolutionary masterworks. Darwin said so.