Zack: Double-crossed! Gut shot by an ork. Fatmarine should have known he was in for trouble when the Ork put his helmet on his groin.
Steve: Yeah, seems sort of rude to take a trophy of the dude while the dude is still alive.
Zack: He just looks sick about the whole situation. His fat guts are falling out, he's dropping his sword; he can only hope his buddy Top Knot gets revenge on the ork.
Steve: Oh man, I just noticed there's like blood exploding out his back too and the bullet shooting out there. I think his space fanny pack is done for.
Zack: "Ooooogh, I had me heart pills in there."
Steve: "Bloody hell mate, me beans and toast is falling out everywhere!"Zack: "I was just coming over to say you could have that helmet, that it didn't fit my giant, fat head anyway, and you go and shoot me like that? Not cricket. Not cricket at all."
Steve: It's sort of funny to imagine the grim dark marines of later Warhammer 40k books dying like this guy. You know, roly poly Blood Angels or whatever falling down onto a planet in a drop pod. They come charging out and then they just waddle up to an ork and put their hand on his shoulder and get shot.
Zack: It's his fault for being too fat to wear the power armor suit properly. He's just got the backpack and then a couple random pieces worn over like a shirt. It's like a Halloween costume.
Steve: Fatmarine's sweettooth made him ask for candy, but it was the ork that tricked instead of treating.
Zack: "Ooooogh, me mates is gonna throw so many eggs at your front door, ye Laibach looking cunt."
Ernest Cline, writer of Ready Player One, shares his newest poem.
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.