Steve: You walk into a room of amazing orbs. These are the finest orbs you've ever beheld. There's a door on the other wall. The orbs are glowing all different colors and pulsing with light and hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a pretty nice place to stay and maybe have fun. There are some weird looking dudes with strange hair and green skin.
Zack: Eurotrash. I knew I shouldn't have come to this club.
Steve: You think they're troglodytes. They're jealously guarding their orbs.
Zack: Troglodytes is a pejorative. They prefer, "subterranean hate humanoids." I'm going to walk towards the door and talk loudly about how lame orbs are and how much I don't care about orbs.
Steve: They don't speak your language.
Zack: Maybe they speak THIS language: gaseous form.
Steve: They start freaking out and making booing sounds. A couple of them use their shields like fans to try to keep you away from the orbs.
Zack: I'm not interested in their stupid orbs. They can have them. I'm going to slip under that door fogwise.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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Zack Parsons, Steve "Malak" Sumner, and friends tackle bizarre role playing game products that make them wonder, "What the fuck!?" From the early days of Gygax to contemporary role playing games, none will be spared.