At this point, the score becomes an imaginary number. Example scores from this point in past games have included “Q to 12”, “wisserteen”, and “3+4i”.
TYRANT! To the barricades!
produces two lit Molotov cocktails
Come, brothers, sisters, non-binary-siblings, undecided, and robots! Join me at the barricades to topple this tyrant! In the name of Truth, Justice, Freedom, Reasonably Priced Love, and a Hard Boiled Egg!
crickets
Come on! For the Glorious People’s Republic of… Something-Or-Other! Come ooon, please? Somebody? Fine…
takes flaming rags out of Molotov cocktails and starts drinking them
These barricades are garbage anyway, no skulls on spikes or burning tires…
*“April 5 is the Feast of the Royal Glabella. On this day, the old ladies of each village gather in the marketplace to perform the traditional ‘Dance of the Unibrow’. Commemorative tweezers are sold for the occasion.” *
Hey, I like you. Stick around and eventually I’ll have a use for you.
Any good with that axe?
Thanks beck, you’re the greatest.
More of a “wannabe”. All us cool kids have wannabees hanging around.
Beg pardon, Rouser of Rabbles, but I must correct a few points:
- I have been an official, online doctor for almost 20 years. Look at my join date for confirmation. You are but a guest, chaz - and not even a paying one at that. When, pray tell, was the last decent unrest you formented?
- Beer is for “arteests”. Sciency folk prefer scotch, brandy, Irish whiskey and the occasional autumnal mead.
- We do not “look” upon stars and navels, we scientifically gaze upon them. Big difference. Huge difference. The budget for “looking” would hardly exceed $100 million per year. Scientific gazing takes it to a whole 'nuther level.
“Top scientists have conclusively proven that King iiii is the only person to have ever truly looked at his own hand. I mean, really looked at it. I mean, like, whoa.”
I would answer your questions about my career, but I cant. NDA and all that. As far as the beer, I didn’t see any liquor bottles the other day when I came through. I wasn’t looking for them specifically though so theres that. There were a couple of cases of keystone in the fridge and some cans of, Japanese? something I’m guessing was an alcoholic beverage.
This arteest doesn’t drink beer, when I drink it’s scotch or wine depending on the setting.
Beckers:
You’re right, no kazoos or slide whistles, but I found a jar of fart putty!
Jasmine:
You nominating me for executioner or executionee? I really don’t care for either one.
~VOW
Of course I am! Not right this minute, though, those things’ll give you the meanest hang over. It’s probably all the copper I dissolved in there. Green fire just makes the revolution feel more festive, y’know?
Anyway, I can see where you’re going with this. Guillotines are nice and all, but they lack a certain personal touch. If you need me I’ll be marauding about the countryside. Someone’s gotta take advantage of the instability and lawlessness caused by dynastic struggle.
I have a whoopee cushion somewhere. Not one the of the cheesy ones they sell now. It’s an authentic off-the-back-of-the-comic-book ones. I’m digging it out.
The whoopee cushion would be most appropriate for Walken After Midnight’s Groom of the Stool.
~VOW
I hate to bring this up about our speshul King iiii. He has no need for a whoopee cushion. He gassier than a gas grill cooking unwashed chitlins.
Who is the royal Physician? We need to intervene. The stool groom is unconscious and probably brain dead.
And here I figured the Groom of the Stool was the one who shoveled out the stables and moved the biffies to level ground!
~
I thought the Stool dude was the ass-wiper. If that’s not his job what was he doing in the WC? I think we’ve uncovered a plot. The King may be in dire straights. I ain’t goin’ in there. We need a peon or 2.
Normally, modesty and job description prevent me from doing this, but you’re welcome for the opportunity for marauding. I won’t claim credit for most of it, but, you know. Ah, I do apologize for the lack of pillage and plunder. The royal observatory has requested full advanced funding for their projected retirement/bar bill for the next 150 years, I’m guessing by the numbers bandied about in the dispatches and interoffice memos. That and the new medical facility, so things might seem a little tight right now, what with the taxes and all. Hey, see if you can hook up with that Lumpy guy, he wanted to form a military outfit, sounded like it might be something you’d like, maybe. If I can get him turned, I’m gonna see what I can do about getting him set up with a provisional unit by my bosses since the king turned him down on that.
Luckily, and by royal decree, the Royal Flatulence smells like roses.
My GAWD! All hail the omnipotent King! He made the roses smell like farts!
bowing
~VOW
“April 8 is the Feast of the King’s Right Big Toenail. The populace spend the day engaged in solemn contemplation and preventative fungal treatments.”
Don’t forget the ceremonial padding of the bases of furniture so that toes aren’t stubbed in the middle of the night during trips to the bathroom.
That usually goes with the Feast of the King’s Right Pinky Toe (February 22). But if you like, I can ask the Royal Diarist to apply it to all toe-themed feast days.