Oh, THAT trench.
Oh, THAT trench.
It’s time to celebrate food groups and debate potatoes!
Today we’re helping birds, searching for dogs, and conversing with rabbits. What a lovely afternoon.
We aid the fellowship’s brave journey and send the locked door tumbling back down to the peak of Zirakzigil. Inside the trash compactor, we find some really disgusting clothes, which are full of clues and pus and look, I warned you, didn’t I? And my brain even warned me, and yet I went on anyway, because the Firewalker heeds no warnings.
Now, we need to find out who put the deceased’s clothes to the Nameless Terror.
Maybe all these talkative people Garte doesn’t want me to speak to will tell me! If Garte Doesn’t Like It, It Must Be Good!™
But before that, what do your elf eyes see, Legolas?
A SECRET DOOR
A SECRET METH LAB
I wasn’t going to take any meth, cop.
Oh, wait, I’m a cop too.
Fine, let’s go investigate further.
Gasp! A cloak! Billowing in the breeze! What hooligan left this Darkwing Duck calling card?!
Oh, it’s mine.
Hang on, let me take my pants off.
Yeah, that’s a little more like it.
OH THAT’S A BIT FAR THAT’S A BIT FAR I don’t want to DIE or anything let’s just take a deep breath and think about it–
Endure, and in enduring…?
A young girl is selling pulp novels on the street, including some starring Dick Mullen, Super Cop.
Please stay tuned for my forty-eight minute video on how socialist justice warriors ruined Red Blooded Cop Fiction.
Someone has replaced my stuck trash lid with THE BALROG BENEATH THE MINES OF MORIA and now I have to go talk to an adult.
For TOO LONG my tie has dangled from the ceiling fan, callous and cruel, taunting me with its silky exterior, just out of reach. I will no longer tolerate its mocking leers and casual dismissal of my shirt’s longing for companionship. I will CONQUER this challenge with Street Savoir Faire!
Wait my clothes are making me savagely uncool????
I will CONQUER this challenge with Street Savoir Faire…
…BY TAKING MY PANTS OFF
I love you my sweet trash baby tie
Pants re-applied and tie re-tied, we swagger on down to Garte to get the key to Durin’s Bane. Something prods the back of my mind about keeping a trash container securely locked…
I prod him, and am re-re-prodded right back.
“Yum yum, tell me more.”
He killed himself.
Let’s just take the key and go outside before I hurt myself further.
I continue my investigation somewhere else that isn’t screaming at other cops through a telephone while my partner desperately attempts to hide in the trunk of his own car.
Two men are talking, and not about me. It is time to fix that with BRAVERY and FIREWALKING
Yes this seems like a good way to do that.
Away with you, coward brain! THROW BALL HARD MAN
Game of Thrones (2016)
This is the worst thing that’s ever happened since that one guy slept with his sister, an event that I’m sure was not only handled respectfully and tastefully but also did not come to define an entire series up until that definition was replaced with “went to shit at the end.”
SUCKS like Gaston
Butters UP like Gaston
Puts his nose in an officer’s BUTT like Gaston
Rene is our info-dump.
So here in Revachol, we had a war. The people of Revachol lost that war — I believe — and it took a foreign alliance coming in to retake Revachol and force out the communists. They did this by bombing parts of Revachol in order for the amphibious landing to succeed, and then Revachol was… saved, in a sense, by people who had no ties to it, and no one who did made enough of a difference or effort to help.
History is for WATER WEAVERS me I’m a big fire boy time to go flame out
Wait no that’s bad
Hang on, my brain is trying to drag me back into middle school gym class for some reason.
Pshhh. I am ALREADY in peak physical condition, brain! Just you wait!
Oh, so THIS is the bad desert level.