"Wait...why did you censor yourself, Phil?" Rag turned to Phil with an honest look of confusion on his face.
Phil gave Rag a very strange look as he telepath'd with him.
id you miss the bit where Michael Atkinson censored the universe?:
Rag gave Phil a stranger look. :But we're dead. And ascended. This universe's rules have jack-shit to say about what we do.:
:Look, I know that and you know that. No one else needs to. Yet.: Phil's look now conveyed traces of "Dur, you moron."
"Hey, hope you don't mind, but the rest of us exist too, ya know," said Ram, picking up on the fact that the two angels were using telepathy. "Wanna include us in your plans?" Rag opened his mouth to speak, but Ram interrupted him. "Or do your plans include ionizing the continent?"
Rag looked sheepish. "OK, plan B. Somebody wake Sam up. We need the Logician."
Sam sat up. "Geez, Rag, you mistyped minutes...and if you hit me, Logician, I will turn you into cat food."
"GET HIM!" Ragnorak and Phil hit the Logician at chest and knee level, respectively, while Ram knelt behind him. Having successfully tabletopped the god of logic, Glenrath, who had hatched from his egg and matured since the beginning of the minuets, bound him to the physical plane on this universe using ancient magic that, for some reason, required three cuttlefish, a lead spatula and an old gym sock. As the party got up and dusted themselves off, the Logician struggled against his earthly bonds.
Sam blinked blearily. "What just happened?"
Phil turned to him and told him what Rag had explained to the rest of the party, simultaneously keeping Orgazmo from raping the Logician. "Well, computers run on logic. The Logician is the god of logic. You seem to be able to summon him simply by breaking the Fourth Wall. We needed you to summon him so he could reverse the damage Atkinson did to this universe, so Rag's poster intentionally mistyped "minutes" to cause you to comment on it when you woke up. Genius, really."
"Ach, 'twerent nothin' special..." Rag rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"*beep* you a..waitaminute, what's the matter with this universe!? *beep* *beep* *beep*..." The Logician looked perturbed as he said every "naughty word" he could think of. They were all censored. Turning to face the wall with an apologetic look at Vaude, he undid his fly and looked down his pants. He quickly zipped himself back up and said, "*beepity beep*, who the *beep* managed to pixelate real-life?"
Rag explained the situation.
"That's a problem. And not a logical one. Gimme a minute." The Logician walked over to the computer that ran the universe and sat down.
And stood back up. "Nevermind, it's coded in Linux. I'll need a cup of coffee at least. Might as well make yourselves comfortable, no villains will be able to do any harm while this censorship's in effect. No gore, no death, etc. A really boring universe." The Logician made up a fire and brewed some coffee while the heroes argued over whose fault this mess was.
Of course, in all this confusion, no one noticed the pieces of the Sword of Novogorad being stolen by a suspiciously familiar man in a cloak...
Phil gave Rag a very strange look as he telepath'd with him.
id you miss the bit where Michael Atkinson censored the universe?:Rag gave Phil a stranger look. :But we're dead. And ascended. This universe's rules have jack-shit to say about what we do.:
:Look, I know that and you know that. No one else needs to. Yet.: Phil's look now conveyed traces of "Dur, you moron."
"Hey, hope you don't mind, but the rest of us exist too, ya know," said Ram, picking up on the fact that the two angels were using telepathy. "Wanna include us in your plans?" Rag opened his mouth to speak, but Ram interrupted him. "Or do your plans include ionizing the continent?"
Rag looked sheepish. "OK, plan B. Somebody wake Sam up. We need the Logician."
------------------Five Minuets Later------------------
"Look, can we go home now?" said the director of the New York Symphony Orchestra. "We kind of have *beep* to do. Like prepare for the next concert."Sam sat up. "Geez, Rag, you mistyped minutes...and if you hit me, Logician, I will turn you into cat food."
"GET HIM!" Ragnorak and Phil hit the Logician at chest and knee level, respectively, while Ram knelt behind him. Having successfully tabletopped the god of logic, Glenrath, who had hatched from his egg and matured since the beginning of the minuets, bound him to the physical plane on this universe using ancient magic that, for some reason, required three cuttlefish, a lead spatula and an old gym sock. As the party got up and dusted themselves off, the Logician struggled against his earthly bonds.
Sam blinked blearily. "What just happened?"
Phil turned to him and told him what Rag had explained to the rest of the party, simultaneously keeping Orgazmo from raping the Logician. "Well, computers run on logic. The Logician is the god of logic. You seem to be able to summon him simply by breaking the Fourth Wall. We needed you to summon him so he could reverse the damage Atkinson did to this universe, so Rag's poster intentionally mistyped "minutes" to cause you to comment on it when you woke up. Genius, really."
"Ach, 'twerent nothin' special..." Rag rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"*beep* you a..waitaminute, what's the matter with this universe!? *beep* *beep* *beep*..." The Logician looked perturbed as he said every "naughty word" he could think of. They were all censored. Turning to face the wall with an apologetic look at Vaude, he undid his fly and looked down his pants. He quickly zipped himself back up and said, "*beepity beep*, who the *beep* managed to pixelate real-life?"
Rag explained the situation.
"That's a problem. And not a logical one. Gimme a minute." The Logician walked over to the computer that ran the universe and sat down.
And stood back up. "Nevermind, it's coded in Linux. I'll need a cup of coffee at least. Might as well make yourselves comfortable, no villains will be able to do any harm while this censorship's in effect. No gore, no death, etc. A really boring universe." The Logician made up a fire and brewed some coffee while the heroes argued over whose fault this mess was.
Of course, in all this confusion, no one noticed the pieces of the Sword of Novogorad being stolen by a suspiciously familiar man in a cloak...
