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Instigators ARISE!


Greyhawke
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Throws a specialy made slushball with deadly accuracy and Greyhawkes oral cavity. ::P: (Special made = made of super glue un-stickem) :rolleyes:

*Laughs hysterically as the slushball hits Greyhawke and the proteins in his skin start to denature*

 

Acetone, which you use to break down Superglue, does very unpleasant things to skin with lots of contact. Not to mention it is just slightly toxic with prolonged exposure or ingestion.

 

Greyhawke, you may want to rethink your allies. They are more harm than good. :devil:

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AH. good point. ::(:

 

 

Chucks another very wet slushball at Greyhawke to wash off residue. :B):

 

 

 

 

 

Wait a second. :angry:

 

 

 

She never said she tied his hands. He can wipe the excess off him self. :lol:

 

 

PIFF. :huh:

 

 

Oops. Sorry about the extra slushball, Greyhawke. :blush:

 

 

Oops!

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Woah! Sports is coming up!

 

SHUT UP!

 

*flings a demonic fireball at Greyhawke and Co.*

 

*grabs bowl of chips and begin munching, while watching the news*

Did someone mention sports?

 

GO RED SOX!!!

 

 

And now to make coffee to make it through the whole game.

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*wipes Acetone off of Rubberized Facial Skin Transplant* :huh:

 

Thanks, Wreckmaster... <_<

 

That's it, my fellows! Rise up! :B):

*dons NBC suit and loads giant slushball laced with Skunk Stink into trebouchet*

 

*muffled* FIRE! :lol:

 

*slushball arcs high overhead and smashes down onto Reapergard, spreading the stink of Skunk all over the palace and leaking down into the Basement* ::P::devil:

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*the grating of the massive stone door that leads to the Proprietor's inner sanctum is deafaning, but nothing compared the resounding slam as it crashes against the wall*

 

FOR THE LOVE O' PETE KEEP IT DOWN!!!!!

 

I'm trying to paint eyes on that hot Justicar chic, and am working on my billionth Duke Gerard.

 

*sniff-sniff* hey, what's that smell, and why's there unauthorized goop down here?

 

Grrr...that's slush, innit?

 

 

*Looks over @ Vinny* Lemme guess, Greyhawke, right?

 

*sigh* okay here we go, but if my paint dries by the time I get back, everyone pays. I'm not screwin around.

 

*summons Greyhawke, the whole freezing hellfire schmeer ensues. The end result is one piddly instigator with his eyes glued open, his mouth stapled shut, covered head to toe with a fine mixture of aftershave, melted carmel, and salt. Suspended from the rafters with alligator clips by his short curlies, forced to watch public access, religious programming cable till he learns his lesson*

 

Now knock it off, ya mook.

 

*Stoms back to the inner sanctum. grumbling all the way about twerps breaking his painting groove*

 

Vinny! Bring me a beer! The paint's drying out!

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