“Who the hell designed this quest?! How am I supposed to loot 5 goat skulls when every second mob is a level 15 dire ram? I haven’t even got armour yet!”
“”The last of my words will be addressed to those heroes who might still be hidden in the world, those who are held prisoner, not by their evasions, but by their virtues and their desperate courage. My brothers in spirit, check on your virtues and on the nature of the enemies you’re serving. Your destroyers hold you by means of your endurance, your generosity, your innocence, your love-the endurance that carries their burdens-the generosity that responds to their cries of despair-the innocence that is unable to conceive of their evil and gives them the benefit of every doubt, refusing to condemn them without understanding and incapable of understanding such motives as theirs-the love, your love of life, which makes you believe that they are men and that they love it, too. But the world of today is the world they wanted; life is the object of their hatred. Leave them to the death they worship. In the name of your magnificent devotion to this earth, leave them, don’t exhaust the greatness of your soul on achieving the triumph of the evil of theirs. Do you hear me … my love?”
“A samurai is pursued by an angry bear to the top of a high cliff. Seeing a long root, he grabs it and climbs halfway down the cliff, hoping to wait out the bear. But as the bear claws at the root, the samurai notices two mice chewing on the root. He looks down below to the ragged rocks at the base of the cliff, knowing he cannot jump down. He then notices within his reach a single strawberry growing on the cliffside. He takes the strawberry and tastes it. And he has never tasted anything more delicious, for in that moment of death he is still alive.
Bearing east-southeast, ahead three-quarter sail, Mr. Webster! Mind the goats off the starboard bow!
“From Hell’s heart I stab at thee! For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee!”
“Now I know why people told me not to click on that link.”
“No ‘A’! No ‘B’! ‘C’! ‘C’!”
“BA-A-A, BAA BARBARA ANN!”
“Whose remote wilderness cliff?? OUR REMOTE WILDERNESS CLIFF!!” (repeat until cops ask you politely to leave)
“Who’s that trip-trapping over my brid – er, I mean – that is to say, gorge – or is it cliff? – DAMN YOU, STUDIO BUDGET-TRIMMERS”
Bad bad black sheep, have you any rural?
Yeah sure, yeah sure, three bags feral.
“Well, ‘BAA-A-A! BAA-A-A!’ back at you! Fuckers!!”
“Hang on, Jughead and Reggie, I just heard that bitch Sabrina turned you into goats, and I’ve got the cure for her spell right here in my walking stick…”
I know I’m a method actor playing Robinson Crusoe, but this is ridiculous!
So last week you saw how we stepped into a blue box, and after a brief conversation about space-time architecture, we left to find ourselves in the 17th century. Leaving the others I slipped into a nearby village and stole a pair of buckled shoes so I could pass unnoticed as a gentleman traveller. It was there I overheard much gossip of witchcraft by the girls of the farm where I had left the others.
Returning, I discovered Betty and Veronica had been taken in by the girls of the farm, where they had unknowingly been exposed to a virus that the girls themselves had caught while investigating a ‘fallen angel’ that had destroyed a nearby field some weeks previously. Since then they had suffered ‘monthly pains’, that the usual herbs seemed not able to relieve.
Finding a house full of young women unnerving, I encouraged Veronica and Betty to come with me back to the blue box. As we passed a scorched field now dominated by a crater, they were both struck by agonising menstrual cramps, and transformed into two giant, blue, devil-goats.
Pursued up this promontory, I have hidden myself from their view.
Hopefully by waving this stick, the mysterious elderly gentleman who we had talked to about space-time architecture will come to my aid. He will no doubt explain that the fallen angel was a crashed spacecraft from a world occupied only be females, I was not infected with the virus as it feeds on oestrogen, that the transformation of the girls is temporary during their period, and that they can be calmed with a hot water bottle.
He’d better hurry as I can see the villagers are massing at the farm where they intend to burn the girls alive… HURRY DOCTOR, HURRY!
Ooooh no. Sexually assaulted by goats once, shame on you. Sexually assaulted by goats twice, shame on me!
C’mon, Reg, this’d be one time I’d be happy for you to try to GET MY GOAT!
“That bastard Tintin gets Spielberg movie and we can’t even get Uwe Boll down here for a script work shop? I’ll show them! I’ll show them all!
“Four legs bad, two legs good!”
“By the Power of Greyskull!”
“Hey, this weed isn’t getting me horny at all!”
“Trying to cross my bridge? How big’s this third goat you keep talking about, eh?”
HEY, YOU’RE RUINING MY “127 HOURS” COSPLAY!
“You’ve been chasing me for nine days! Stop trying to fuck me!”
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