the shadow player said: may i complement you on your choice, sadly all the liquer is gone right about now.
"Damn" he cursed and shot the barkeeper a disgusted look that sent the poor chap fleeing into the kitchens, Looking around he noticed a six breast diaobical Lohan clone snorting coke off the back of her assistant's mother.
Undisturbed by the display, he bent a craggy eye away, past a hideously deformed man scribbling in a tome labelled 4th ed, and then toward a Demon in the corner, who was feeding quasits through a meatgrinder into a plastic bag lining a brand new red Coleman cooler.
A succubus and pit fiend were going at it on a table next to a group of dogs playing poker with hats on, all the while a rakshasa one Jenjiv watch from behind a curtain made of wookie scalps.
"... I'm heading to the west to slay some wizards," said a pallid looking human wearing greaves on his legs and bracers on his forearms, "Are you looking for an adventure?"
Our hero responded with: "Im always ready for adventure especially if it involves slaying Wizards at the west coast"
The whole room fell silent and a huge demonic form arose from the shadows it was Obox-ob "Wizards of west coast did you say?"
The hideous lord chittered to itself then spoke to the entire room "Prepare for battle my minions tonite we feast"!
"We will drink out of the skulls of our fallen enemies"
The parking lot outside had swelled to a sea of skittering forms and hulking shapes, flatbed trucks hauled in seige engines and motley bands of dark warriors and hooded sorcerers loaded into school buses painted black, the sky was heavy with slate gray clouds.
Radiant light cast from the Angel Gabriel’s raised sword gleamed off the silver armor of his Paladin cohort; they too advanced into holy war against the corrupt western wizards.
Obox ob had no pockets and therefore had no change, he was very angry at his major domo Vaaluk for not updating his ezpass.
However while he was on the phone the succubuses had taken care of the toll booth collectors and the path was made clear.
Chunky, the 30 year old intern (making $11.00/hr), was sitting in his office within the Citidel (his eyes were closed because just at that moment he was fantasizing about being a powerful hero in his campaign world) when he heard the screaming begin in the offices down the hall -- curiosity caused him to open the door and look at the scene tumbling out before him.
he did sneak to the hallway and heared the sound of coins, combined wwith the west coast fell magic, coming from behind a sturdy bound wooden door.
He pressed his ear to the door and began to fondle himself.
A Republican Senator approached him smiling, “Want to pretend we are not gay, together?”
"What are you doing at Wizards of the West Coast Citadel, Senator?"
"I am here for the meeting with satan, aren't you?"
Nah, I am just this weeks doorman, although, with the fly problem I guess old Beazubub is in the office today and Satan is taking a powder; you might want to make an appointment; evenso, do try the the candy from the jar and dont forget to get your complimentary pen.
Nah, I am just this weeks doorman, although, with the fly problem I guess old Beazubub is in the office today and Satan is taking a powder; you might want to make an appointment; evenso, do try the the candy from the jar and dont forget to get your complimentary pen.
Like any post from any of the story lines fit; besides; who do you think said that as it seems quite obvious to me without any pronount antecedant errors or split infinitives; certainly, this is the work of the doorman; who else would answer such a question except perhaps a professional assistant; besides, perhaps chunky is the doorman in question though doormen are often never seen by such as you who obviously consider yourself above such low brow labor.
Like any post from any of the story lines fit; besides; who do you think said that as it seems quite obvious to me without any pronount antecedant errors or split infinitives; certainly, this is the work of the doorman; who else would answer such a question except perhaps a professional assistant; besides, perhaps chunky is the doorman in question though doormen are often never seen by such as you who obviously consider yourself above such low brow labor.
The assistant shuffled away and wiped ball sweat from his hand; the senator entered the infernal chamber.
The inside of the chamber was a light by several roaring fires, as the board of directors gathered to listen to a presentation from the marketing department; a gaggle of cultists loitered near the pentagram etched in the middle of the floor (where the unclothed virgin was tied up for some arcane ritual).
The Senator cried, "The citadel is under attack from the forces of Heaven and Hell! But, do not worry, I have used my tactical genius to concoct (he liked that word) a brilliant defense. I have activated the automatic self-destruct mechanism to blow the citadel to smithereens (he liked that word to). We will win this war by deconstructing our products, our customer’s loyalties, and the final strike to break our backs will be my brilliant political skills.”
[ an automated female voice rings out, “three seconds to self-destruct… 2…1..” ]
FOOOOM! (hey, nice word)
A quarter was rolling down the sidewalk until it bumped into a tuft of grass and fell flat.
Out stepped a man who ducked into a waiting cab on the side of a busy New York city street.
A crack whore bent over and picked up the quarter.
It was still warm.
It was magic.
After several years in a rehab in the backlands of Alaska she had found that even here the quarter kept her warm.
Her Ninja senses tingled, as the cab pulled away from the curb.
The Shaolin monks had tracked her down, the crack whore grinned.
hey, so lets get a soccer ball and kick it around a bit and make a movie; sound good to you guys - we could even call it Shoalin something soccerish?
The crack whore spit in the face of the monks leader and then surprised the other monks with her crackish fung ku movements, she flipped in the air while smoking her crack pipe, she then exhaled a huge crack smoke dragon.
The crack smoke dragon took aim at the leader.
Time slowed and fingers of crack smoke malingered across the battlefield, and the monks, having inhaled some second hand, began to vibrate with intoxicated anticipation of the oncoming confrontation between the dark forces of crack and the might of traditional kung fu spiritualism.
Xiao Po, the shaolin abbot, flipped through the grappling rules as he contemplated his approaching melee with the crack dragon.
"I'm 4e, beotch" the crack dragon croaked.