CHAPTER 11...Hold On To Your Watermelons

After disembarking and leaving the airport, Phil was still thinking pensively about his brain in a surprisingly un-metacognitive manner.

The brain was truly amazing. It seemed to run completely on its own, without help from him at all. 

Phil wondered if he could ask it how it worked. 

Before, however, he could muster the courage to think, a car pulled up in front of him, the side door opened and he was yanked inside.

After Phil's eyes adjusted to the light he realized that sitting beside him was a very beautiful woman wearing a plastic watermelon slice on her head.

She said simply, "I am Ezmeralda; I am your death, unless...Why are you stuffing a pillow up the back of your shirt?"

"Damn! She'd noticed!" thought Phil. Before he could come up with a plan, his brain told him what to do. "Heh heh 'ello Ezmeralda!" he said once again in his Quasimodo accent. "Stupid brain, I know it has its

reasons but..."

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CHAPTER 10...Strapless Dresses

Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean, the 'Fasten-Your-Seatbelts- Sign' ceased flashing and the Captain announced that he expected to land in Glasgow at around 2:15 a.m. Uganda time.

"How come we don't have cool names?" ventured Phil casually.

"What!?" asked Betty, a little too loudly.

"You know, like Lightning Lad!"

"I'm not sure..." Betty lied.

Air turbulence abruptly interrupted their conversation; the 'Fasten-Your-Seatbelts-Sign' lit up again and began to flash its monotonous message. 

Fastening their belts had served to distract Phil from pursuing his former line of questioning; instead, he thought quietly to himself if there were different types of sheep, as they neared their destination.

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CHAPTER 9...Goju Ryu vs. Dr. Stranglehold

Back at the house on Vertigo Street... Lightning Lad was staring pensively into the night sky, "They'll be half way to the rendezvous point by now." he reasoned. Reaching for the phone he dialed headquarters, "The

lambs are in the field." he said nonchalantly, and hung up.

Lightning Lad had always known this day would come, but it didn't make it any easier for him now that it had. 

His family was now enmeshed in the Corporation's plan to defeat the devious Dr. Stranglehold's diabolical scheme of world domination. 

Scotland would be aware of this attempt to thwart its dastardly resolve and would most certainly be setting a trap for our heroes upon their arrival. 

"Betty and Phil will be ready for any eventuality." thought Lightning Lad, much the same way a can of mustard would, after being left in the sun, if mustard came in a can, and thought, and had known Betty or Phil the way Lightning Lad had.

"They damn well better be!" screamed a quiet voice from the direction of the front hallway.

"Who is reading my mind?" sputtered Lightning Lad. It could only be one person: Goju Ryu, the Mastermind. 
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CHAPTER 8...Pez Intelligence vs. Croissant Coma

"Not to worry, Missy, this isn't a REAL cigar; it's like a PEZ! See, ya tilt back the cigar, and you can keep SMARTIES inside!! I always eat the red ones last, and, did you know..." she paused with a mischievous giggle,

"...that they DO make you smart?"

"Hey, wait just a darn minute!" Phil thought; the peanuts were making him groggier. He had begun to wish he had not eaten all those chocolate croissants at the airport lineup, but, well, they WERE free samples.

Phil let out a small puff of gas, and thought to himself in a green haze. "Mother??? Was my Mother sitting behind me at this very minute? Was she wearing one of her embarrassing 'Groucho Marx' disguises?"

"Free air miles!" she whispered in his ear, her fake mustache tickling him, as he slipped into a croissant coma, a smile on his lips. "Good ol' Ma, how she did love an adventure..."

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CHAPTER 7...Pillowy Soft Spinal Padding

The stewardess leaned over and asked Phil if he wanted some peanuts. 

"Yes, thank-you." He replied in a hunched over, Quasimodo posture. "Damn brain! Why did I have to get the Quasimodo accent for talking to girls? I mean, the Scottish one wouldn't be so bad, but, girls never dig a guy with a pillow stuffed up the back of his shirt... Ah well, I'll try anyway" mused Phil, and, quickly thinking up his best come-on line he opened his mouth and moaned with a Herculean effort "Uhhhhhh."

The stewardess, taken aback for only a second, replied sweetly, "You can't keep that pillow when you leave the plane, y'know."

"Tha-a-t's right"drawled the woman sitting directly behind him, puffing on her cigar.

"Ma'am, there'll be no cigar smoking on this flight. I'm sorry but we have outlawed cigar smoking in public." The stewardess warbled so sweetly, her voice lilting like a songbird on a summer's eve. 

Phil fought to stay awake; it was like a PBS special Lightning Lad would initially force him to watch, and then promptly fall asleep leaving Phil to wonder if he could slip down to his computer without waking him.

Phil wondered what the Lad of Lightning was doing at present and promptly began to miss him. His thoughts, however were suddenly interrupted when Phil heard the woman behind him explain:

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CHAPTER 6...The Large Bulge

The rain washed down Phil's face, obscuring any would-be tears, as he carefully snuck out of the house, hailed a cab and plopped down inside, concealing a large bulge in his jacket pocket. 

He arrived at the airport without incident; the cabby wasn't the conversational type. That was for the best, because Phil's Oriental accent wasn't that great either, and his brain explained time and time again that whenever making small talk, he must talk with an Oriental accent. 

It was very hard to lie, and do small talk because he had never heard a Scottish Oriental, and therefore it was hard to reproduce the accent perfectly. 

In any event, in less than an hour, he was on the plane to Scotland. 

Or, so he thought.

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CHAPTER 5...Irritated Spirits

On closer inspection of the parcel, Phil and his mother discovered strange hieroglyphic markings denoting powerful figures poised for confrontation, or perhaps just irritated. 

"Hey, do these look like hieroglyphic markings to you?" Phil asked.  Betty quickly replied "Hm.  Strange ones.  They seem poised for something."  Phil nodded, "poised for confrontation, you think?" Betty shrugged, re-read the above paragraph and quickly added "could be, or, perhaps they're just irritated?"

Oddly enough, neither Phil nor Betty was able to discover any obvious method of opening it. 

"Should we keep paraphrasing by talking?" Phil asked his Mother.  

"Shh, I can't seem to come up with any obvious method of opening this parcel with strange hieroglyphic markings denoting..."  

Phil interrupted his mother kindly "we did that already."  

"Oh.  Right." she smiled.

Like a volcano erupting, they realized simultaneously what fools they had been. The package could only be opened by a REAL Scotsman! Phil's accent (or perhaps Phil's brain's accent) had only given them clearance for the acceptance of the package!  (what a coincidence!) 

They required Scottish skill, or at least Scottish severed hands, to open the peculiar package. 

What a divine plot! 

Phil decided it was best that his family didn't become involved. 

That same night, Phil packed up everything he would need: his tooth-brush, comb, and other hygiene products, some extra clothes, a jock-strap, and his 'plastic junior woodchuck training knife' that had been given to him by his senile old grandmother who still thought he was around nine or ten. 

Phil, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, flexed his muscles underneath his old tattered shirt. Nothing miraculous happened. 

He decided he would take the next flight to, well, to Scotland he guessed. He decided that he would take the next flight to Scotland.

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CHAPTER 3...Hard Wood and A Pair of Taillights

The hinges creaked under the strain as Phil closed the large, windowless front door, as though the door itself were suddenly responsible for the weight of the entire world's sins, and he, their eternal tormentor.

Then, the moment passed, and the door seemed just like a door again.

He ran to the window watching hesitantly as the van's taillights disappeared down the winding street. Then silence. 

Only the relentless ticking of the mantle clock disturbed the stillness that had descended on their modest, split level home. 

When the phone pierced the veil of condemned souls and paranoia, it was almost a relief except for the annoying ringtone it had used.  Upon hearing the rather outdated boy band's lyrics sing through their phone, it was like a spell had been broken and only now would they be allowed to reanimate, nervously laughing at the horrendous song. 

Lightning Lad answered the phone, as per usual, lighting fast, and whispered... lightning... quiet. 

Meanwhile, Phil and his mother, Betty, decided to investigate the contents of the mysterious package.

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CHAPTER 3...Encourage the Good Behavior

"Nice job Ma!" Phil said encouragingly, then, noticing the limp, added quickly "Saaay, did you sprain your ankle again?"

"Yep!" she said proudly, lighting herself a cigar and inhaling deeply, caressing the delivery boy's former parcel.

"What's with the cigar?" demanded Lightning Lad, from the inner bowels of the living room. 

He was a pleasant enough husband, and took his parenting job of Phil quite seriously, but he was occasionally a tad too secretive about what it was exactly, that he did for a living, and very rarely allowed anyone to wash his tights, claiming that it might explode his gas balls.  (which was often met with various fart jokes from Phil's Mother)

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CHAPTER 2...Cue The Brain

An interesting thing about Phil, was that his brain seemed to actively plot against him in a myriad of ways.  Including, but not limited to, forcing him to use different accents for different states of mind.

"Well." Phil said, a little rusty with his Scottish accent, (Lying, by the way, being a Scottish rule - not that Phil's brain in any way associated dishonesty with Scotsman; I think it just thought the accent was funny to hear people lie, in) "I'll be taken' that there wee package if yee doon't mind, laddie as its tOtally fer mee...agh."

The delivery boy's eyes narrowed at Phil, "You weren't Scottish a minute ago, mister..." 

Thinking fast, Phil's brain told him what to say. "That's because the package is for..."

"ME!!" interrupted a limping, ample bodied woman, slightly behind him, in a fairy-like voice.  "The package is for me, sonny!" and, tossing him a coin, she gave him a flirty wink that spoke, "I want you."  

The lad, blushed a deep vermilion, forgot all about the accent, stumbled down the dimly lit porch steps and disappeared out into the rainy darkness with thoughts of cheese, haggis, cleavage and sheep on his mind.

CHAPTER 1...Scottish Cardboard

The doorbell rang.  

Phil, a skinny little man, opened the door.  So far, so good.

There, framed in the doorway, stood a tall, angular chap, smiling rather foolishly, as if he'd been practicing for quite some time beforehand.  

The man, very much resembling a cat with an orange slice in its mouth, seemed to be holding a rather large, corrugated cardboard box.  

As he continued to practice his smile, now with a live audience, he asked, from around his teeth, in a rather obviously fake English accent, if "You wouldn't ‘appen to know just where this is supposed to go would yew ol’ chap?" 

Phil, intrigued by this delivery boy who did not seem to know how, or even where, to deliver his package, decided there was only one thing to do:  Help the poor soul.  

Phil did not want the lad to be fired, and thus decided to provide him with his destination.

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Hasn't eaten in over 50 years...?

So, there's a new thing.

Where... people don't have to eat.

Like... ever.

They don't even drink water.

(go 'wan, I know you wanna say it...)

"yes sir, Mr. Internet-reliable-source, I believe you without any shred of proof"

Yeah, I know.  But, a friend of mine actually hangs out with one of these people - suddenly, it seems a little less... obscure.  A little less "old guy on the top of a mountain does it but wtf"

Now, they're finding these folks as young as 7 years old!

They say generally they go to veggetarian, vegan, then either just water, or simply jump right to nothing.

NOTHING!

People are theorizing that they are existing like plants do - basically off of photosynthesis.  Fascinating stuff.

It aaaalways comes back to swamp thing...  Every since he did the nasty with Heather Locklear, its been swamp thing this, swamp thing tha...

What?  You didn't know?  Oh, lord, you have to see this:

(Why yes that is that girl from that show with the guy who played Teen Wolf in it... or was it Charlie Sheen?  I don't know, but that is, actually Healther Locklear, doing it with a plant penis.  PLANT PENIS!)

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Skintech

Microphones can tell which part of my body I'm hitting...

I get the feeling that this is going to be kind of like one of those

"Hello, please say phone, or internet so that we can direct your call."
"Internet."
"Did you say fish?"
"NO."
"Okay, try again."
"INTERNET"
"Did you say, upgrade your cell plan?"
"NO!"
"Okay, try again."
"IN-TER-NET!"
"I'm sorry, did you say hang up in frustration?"

Maybe not - maybe they're directional microphones so sensitive that they can sense only vibration. But then, what happens when you're walking, or taking the bus? Would it adjust?

And, if so, would it know that you were running and could automatically update your music player's playlist?

Either way, a brave new world/interface.

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!@#$ing Epic Crossover

Okay, so anybody not heard of Mario, Link, Samus, or the guy from Contra or Castlevania?

Anyone that HAS heard of them existing all in the same game???

...what? No, not freaking smash brothers you dimfuckshitnose! I'm talking about this amazing piece of fiction, in which they all co-exist within the mario universe!

Yeah.

Now you're sorry you even said smash, let alone "bros"

CHECK IIIIIIIIT OUT!

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Hey, let's build a star on the earth

Didn't these feebs see Spiderman? you're going to make a horrible Doctor Octopus!

No, yeah, seriously. These sciencey fellows are pointing a football field and a bit's worth of lasers all at the same point in space - the theory being that, around 2012 (poor conspiricy theorists, yes, that IS when it is scheduled to be operational) the combined effect of all these zappy zappers will create... a star.

ON EARTH.

(but my beloved narrator/rambler, why the FUCK would they not do this out in SPACE at the very least... someplace far away...?)

Great question bracketed tiny mouse - I DO NOT KNOW. (But, I'm guessing oxygen is required to make it work)

So yes. We're building a freaking star on the Earth with a trillion degrees hotness.

Oh, yeah, so, if this doesn't burn us all alive or nuke us in some horrific explosion, the upside is... when stars die, they create supernovas, black holes, that kind of thing. (also, on Earth)

The good news is, if it works, we can make star destroyers, as well as power the freaking EVERYTHING with it, as it will be a nearly limitless supply of power.

(which makes me wonder if some day we'll all be jackin' in to nearby solar systems...)

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Batman's Dead Parents

Y'know something that's never really touched on, as far as I know, in the Batman universe?

What about the REST of his family? Grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, illegitimate half brothers... I mean, is he the LAST of the Waynes family tree? Was everyone else even remotely related to Bruce ALSO gunned down?

Its never covered. Ever.

I mean, on Christmas time, we see Dick and (so hard not to write Jane) Alfred hang out with the guy or Joker blow up some babies... but what about his Aunt Bertha who really wants him to try the Cheesecake she made?

I go to someone's house for some random holiday, and you can't throw a turkey without hitting SOME relative. So, where's all the bat-fam?

In fact, there's no extended family in any of the marvel or dc universe, with possible exceptions to Aunts/Uncles playing the part of families (ie Spiderman's Aunt May)

I just think someone should have noticed this before now.

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Funny animal cruelty

Oh sure, we've all guffawed a little at the thought of a small dog getting punted up into the air, or, at the very least, at a cat jumping into and hitting a wall.

But who has ever laughed quite so hard at the thought of someone whipping a horse until it bleeds?

Thank you The Onion, for once again, bringing our attention to social horrors while making us laugh at the same time.

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Sloth Lady

Driving like a bat out of hell, which, if you think about it, is doubly bad (due to the fact that bats from just about anywhere would be horrible drivers) I made it to the airport nearly exactly too late to be decent and speak slowly.

This, it would later occur to me, was not helpful nor the best way for me to project an air of "not a terrorist" to someone working at an airport.

"friggin won a trip and only have 20 minutes because of the god damn phone police airport parking!" I screamed urgently to the half woman, half sloth creature which seemed to be entirely fixated on things involving not-me as it slowly chewed the mass of what I could only hope was gum, within its mandibles.

"Congraaaatulations on winnin' that trip.  What are the odds of that?" She asked, clearly misunderstanding her position, as it was I, who should be asking her, the questions.

"I haven't the slightest idea, maybe we can look it up when we have more time - about that confirmation code, what would you suggest I do to show that I've won these tickets?"

"Tickets?"

"...YES!"

"So you're takin' somebody with you then?"

Again, she seemed to have taken on the roll of the inquisitor verses the interrogated.  But, the sloth had an excellent point.  The conversation with the lady slowly came back to me, and I realized that she had, in fact, said "tickets", plural.

"...possibly, yes!" I replied, taken aback.

"Well, maybe they know your confirmation code." She offered, entirely unhelpfully.

"Th... they don't EXIST yet!  I don't know who I'm taking to Cancun, I don't even know how to get my tickets thanks to god damn Albert!"

"Who is Albert?"

"Look, I don't have TIME to tell you all these things, I need to find my tickets!"

"Why do you need two tickets, if you aren't going to be taking Albert with you?"

"I suppose I only need the ONE ticket, but I've technically won tickETS, so, I would imagine that they'd be in some kind of envelope... prize... station, thing, would they not!?"

She paused, clearly isolating a particular flavor out of her hopefully-gum, "That's an interesting question."

I twitched, and hissed through my teeth as I watched the minute hand upon the clock tick forward.  "Yes.  I thought so."

"Who would be in charge of your tickets?" The sloth queried aloud, clearly not recognizing the irony of an information desk clerk asking such a question.

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!@#$ing Albert

So now, thanks to Albert, my plane is delayed for the trip I'm late for and don't have enough time to procrastinate packing.

Still, at least I got to go to Cancun, and my phone worked.  All 'n all what did one really need to pack to a place like Cancun, anyway?  The trip was all inclusive, which, to me, means all the food and beverages I need will be provided.  I could always buy a pair of touristy Bermuda shorts when I arrived, after all.

I decided to wing it.  To take a plunge and not look back.  I decided that I didn't know how to convey that I'd won any trip to anywhere to anybody who would be responsible for letting me on any plane to anywhere.

Shit.

Due to my curtness with the lady on the phone, due to the uninterrupted sleep due to Albert fixing my phone (again, it all came back to Albert) I had no actual data of which to provide.  No "coupon code" or even a secret handshake.

Shitballs.

I checked my caller ID.  It wasn't working.  It HAD been working before, but the phone had not.  Albert had screwed me yet again.  I couldn't call this lady back, and I had about a half hour to solve this situation before my delayed flight would arrive and find me there, Bermuda shorts in hand (I certainly wasn't going to wear them to the airport - no self respecting New Yorker would ever go anywhere in Bermuda shorts)

I decided to try the help desk at the airport.  After all, it was their job to help irresponsible, irrational people just like me.

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Master of Power Suction, Master of Stinking, and David Blane.

Kind of a niche market, isn't it?  "The Master of Power Suction"?

I mean, how many power suction enthuisasts are there, exactly, that one might specialize to the point of being dubbed their master?

And how would that be effective, cobatitively?  I understand he kind of leeched out people's life essence or something... but is that what would happen if you used a really powerful vacuume cleaner?

I heard some fellow sucked his wang right off his crotch with the Master of Power Suction understudy, once.

Still, as far as amazing abilities go, I suppose I'd take the master of suck over, say... the master of stink.

I mean really, seriously?  They made a toy, that stunk.  And, not just when you hit a button or something - it stunk like a stink bomb... like rotten eggs... all the time.

You take it out of the box and you're like "wow, cool... ugh!  Umm..." and you look around nervously about where the hell you're supposed to STORE this freaking thing.  Ziplock bag?  Could he be master of the David Blane impression?

"Behold!  My magic!  I can sit in an air tight container for a long... long time!" 

..."Keep beholding.  It gets good in a few hours."

..."Come back!  Behold!"  Oy.  When did magic start being about hanging out in semi-public places, and sucking for long periods of time?

...Maybe they were vying for that Master of Power Suction spot?

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Individuality in schools

This sums it up fairly well.

Blame Albert

So I go down to the phone company so I can talk to the phone lady - not that I would assume it was a lady, but, I happen to know the rest of the story, so piss off - and, I'm nervous, because, well, I'm pretty sure there's aliens in there.

And not the cute ET kind, but, the face-ripping, how-do-we-make-our-faces-look-so-human kind.

And, she says "what kind of trouble are you having with your phone?"

And, I answer that, its pretty much the only type of phone trouble that I was aware a phone could have, really.

I mean, its still the same color, and same mass and everything - it just wasn't, y'know... working in a phone-like capacity.

And, she says she'll have to send somebody out.

Which, I kind of assumed because, well, let's face it, there was nobody at my house right now who could fix phones, or I would have asked them for help, and, I didn't have the phone with me, and I assumed that the aliens wouldn't expose themselves via the use of any sort of teleportation mechanisms.

Now that I've passed the "I'm not holding the wrong end of the phone to my ear" test, she informs me that she'll be sending a guy right out.

Although, this whole exercise did make me wonder a little. What other complaints about phones could people have? 

MY PHONE IS NOT BEAR ENOUGH!

(apparently)

And by the way, saying someone'd be "right out" is just a lie. 

Its not like there was a big line of guys just waiting to go out there; aliens or not, these people have lives)

And, its the phone guys' (also likely aliens, by the way) job to get to the house when I'm not there - and, just so you know, those buggers can friggen get in through the toilet if you're not careful.

I mean, they can slither up through the pipes like some freakishly inverted shit-covered Santa Clause or something.

So, I'm waiting for the guys (with my toilet seat down, just in case) and, my phone rings.

Which, honestly, was kind of scary, because, well, it was supposed to be broken, and I hadn't seen any guys enter the house.

My mind starts racing as I answer the phone.  "How did they get in?  Are they still in the house right now?  Should I be answering the phone or, if I was watching this on TV, would I be the one yelling at the idiot answering the phone to get the crap out of the house???"

So, Albert is on the other end, and informs me that he's outside my appartment. Which, is a new thing for me, because, well, I'm on the 3rd floor.

"GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!" is definately what I'd be yelling by now.

This sort of height would challenge even the most determined stalker, so, I admit, I got a little excited about the premise of someone taking enough time to be out there, for me, and to have taken the time to inform me of this.

(very unprofessional if this person turned out to be a ninja or spy)

So, I look out at the phone guy who is, in fact, outside my window, (friggin' aliens) and, well, waved at him.

(I mean, how often does one get to see such a site, really. An alien phone guy waving at you from outside your window.)

So, now that Albert has fixed my phone, I can get woken up the next morning at 4am, about 5 hours before I'd intended on getting up, so that I could be informed that my plane is going to be late.

I informed them that, as far as I was aware, I didn't have a plane, but, after some clarification it turns out that I'd won a trip, but hadn't been informed of it due to the broken phone, and, now I was early, due to the plane being late.

(Alien logic, if you ask me)

Its odd to be pissed off about winning a trip, but there you have it, I was pissed that I'd been woken up, pissed that I now had to wait, for something I previously didn't know that I wasn't on time for.

So, I tell her I'll need to get luggage, and she says that I should have done that sooner - to which I replied that she should have spoken quicker.

So, she's a little curt with me, understandably, and, I'm a little curt with her - mostly due to the shock and sleep deprivation; though the aliens could have put something in my house to disrupt my thought waves for all I know.  Maybe Albert was just a diversion for the real alieninjas.

So, now, due to my plane being 2 hours late, and me having to arrive at the airport 1 hour before departure, and me being about a half hour drive from the airport, I'm about a half hour early; except I need to figure out what to pack, and where I'm going, so, really, I'm about 6 hours late, as I tend to procrastinate those sorts of decisions.

"Jesus this is a complicated day," I thought to myself.

I decided to blame Albert.

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Video game logic

Have you ever stopped and thought about the logic of some video games?

Putting aside the 3d shooter logic best explained by Red vs Blue

and some of the older games, where all the units die because you jump on them (Mario's ultimate enemy would be 8 land mines in a row)

But look at Megaman. You gotta kill thousands of robots to go get Dr. Wiley, who's lost every freaking battle since the series began. You think, maybe, this Doctor might wise up and go mess up megaman while he was still acquiring his leaf shield, instead of afterwards.

Ah, but we love our simple puzzles, don't we?

We love to feel clever. "Guh huh, I shotted da red ting and it blewed up! I fuggered it out all byes myself!"

But even today, people love simple puzzles. The truly masterful game designer will give you hard puzzles, and be absolutely bewildered as to why people simply go online, get the walktrhough's so that they can say they've beat this hard game.

Shoot them right there, and they die. Cool, got it. But god forbid you have to think a sec.

Hm. Bitter today.

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Final Fantasy Sucks

I'm sorry, but that stupid freaking gunsword just is the most lame, retarded weapon I've ever seen.

And that includes gopher chucks.

___
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want you to think that I disliked Kung Pow - far from it.  Weeeiooo!

No, I'm simply saying that a spoof-movie's purposefully silly weapon is cooler than this retarded weapon which is supposed to be cool.

Gopher chucks would actually work better (assuming rigor mortis set in) than the gunsword.  And yes I can understand that its a FANTASY game.

It isn't so much the "logic" of the weapon itself that I'm debating.  More the "what the heck were they thinking" type statement.

Like... how do those two things make each other better?  The gun handle would make the sword nearly impossible to use effectively - and the blade would make the gun impossible to use at all.

It just simply doesn't make any sense on any level.

Its like saying that duct taping a baby to your car's hood would make your dessert taste better.  I understand juxtaposition is a part of FF, but weapons should at least... be...

Oh nevermind.  Go back to your damn ball-of-death-throwing, knife-swording, stupid shorts game.
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DND done right

People who make chronicles of their DND campaigns. I always think "NEEERD" until I read them.

Then... yeah, wow. This is hilarious. The DM's take on the utter n00bular nature of his party, his sardonic narration, his blatant stating of the obvious... its great.

I can't wait to see what happens to the merry band of "lawful good" adventurers (you'll understand the quotes after you read!)

Read: The Smell of n00bs

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