“SCHH-napp!” goes the whip.
“Ow! You bastard!” cries Hal, clutching at his eye socket.
A torch goes skittering across the dungeon floor and lands near your feet.
(Getting late on west coast; DM goes to get some Cheetos. . . Don’t look at the map, guys! I mean it!)
Malacandra: I slap the bottle about to try to get it to sober up, and offer it a shot of my special pick-me-up from my hip-flask, while keeping half an eye on the shadows for any potential targets for my pistol crossbow.
OK, I’ve got my +3 vorpal at the ready. I’ve slid it in and out of it’s sheath several times, because I’m neurotic like that. You never know when it’s going to stick. I better try it it again.
And now, too.
Once more for good measure.
Toss me the idol, I’ll throw you the whip. 
Hey. One trap-filled Lost Temple is much like another…
I inch nonchalantly away from the dangerous loonie with the vorpal sword.
DM returns rested with cheetos.
The bottle of brandy stirs for a moment and says “Whuzz the big shuggah pizz muzzah I can still drive smuzzle weh. . .” and irritatedly shrugs your hand off its shoulder and rolls over, reeking. Its breath smells like. . . itself.
Which way does the party head?
I stow the bottle in my backpack, well wrapped up in sackcloth to muffle it as well as cushion it. A talking bottle should be worth money in the right quarter.
I can’t remember what noise dripping makes, but if we’re heading that way, I’d better pull on the sharkskin overshoes, or I’ll be sliding all over the place.
The party heads north, Malacandra wearing sharkskin boots, toward the dripping noise. The boots sort of shimmer in the torch-light, like, you know, shifting colors and stuff. Like, they’re green AND pink, depending on where you looks from. They look totally hot. I mean, really swank. The rest of the party’s a bit jealous.
After following the corridor a short distance you enter a smaller chamber. In the center of the chamber there is a metal sink. It looks like an octothorpe, really. Strange, that.
There is an exit corridor to the east.
I blindly (well, half-blindly) stick my arm into the sink drain. Gotta be some good loot in there somewhere.
I unroll a tourniquet in anticipation of the tragically obvious.
Carefully avoiding the on/off switch under the cabinet, Hal sticks his arm in up to the elbow and roots around. He smiles and pulls out a shiny ring! The ring itself seems to be made of a pliable blue material, while the rock set in it is a huge pink gem. It is slightly sticky and tastes like watermelon.
Kick the sink (Y/N)?
Ah-hah! Guys, I’ve figured this place out. It seems that the blitheringly stupid course of action is the correct one!
I slide the ring on my finger while kicking the sink, all the while loudly calling question to the true sexual preference of a major demon (by his True Name, of course).
As Hal slides the ring onto his finger he begins to float in the air! Really. . . fast. He cracks his head on the ceiling, but not before managing to tap the sink with his foot.
Naturally (you guessed it), a water demon appears!
“Foolish mortals! Why have you summoned me?! Ooh, nice boots.”
Still workin’ my vorpal. here.
Now, is it really a demon? Or an elemental?
Daithi Latcha’s working his Vorpal, and the other party members think “eew.” They step away another couple of feet.
Now that the steam has cleared a bit, you realize it’s not actually a demon OR an elemental. It appears to be a very large. . . Sea Monkey. Two feet tall! An Ancient Chromatic Sea Monkey. . . OF DOOM! He (?) has long fingers and is wearing a crown.
[Because of the air currents from the east hallway, Hal Briston is slowly blown to the west a bit, bouncing off the ceiling every few feet like a helium balloon. Not that you adventurers have ever seen one. A, um, phlogiston bladder.]
[Faint cursing muttering noises are emitted from Malacandra’s backpack]
I check the ceiling for secret doors.
[Rolls a die behind cupped hands]
You, ehm, find no secret doors. Cough cough.
Only lichen.
The King of the Sea Monkeys scrambles up onto the top of the sink and pulls a wand out of . . . his. . . um, gill. Or something. He’s waving his wand around and making burbling noises.
Ok then…since there are absolutely no secret doors in the ceiling…
I pull my 10’ pole out of my backpack*****, use it to push myself back down to floor level, and remove the ring.
*****What? It’s right there on my character sheet! Hell, it’s right there on everyone’s character sheet…
I try to whip the crown off the Sea Monkey. If I succeed, I want to put it on. I’ve always wanted to be royalty!