HoD thwacks PF upside the head with the softball bat, and goes up the stairs back into the bar. "No!" he screams at shemming. "Bar's closed! Bad...cat...thing!"
HoD sighs. "Goddammit. I may as well just light all the damn alcohol on fire if everyone's going to keep drinking it." HoD jumps behind the bar, and begins throwing Molotov cocktails at everyone.
"Well, if you're feeling weird, some rubbing alcohol might make ya feel better." With that, HoD douses Waffles with rubbing alcohol, causing the flames to rise in intensity.
foolish person, you realise all of the giantmutantzombierobotlazerfiringchicken[sup]tm[/sup]'s were wiped out in the nuclear apocolypse in the furnace dimension mine is tha last of its kind!
*giantmutantzombierobotlazerfiringchicken[sup]tm[/sup] stomps on(insertnamehear) for his ignorance*
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.