(From Kingdom of Loathing, a really cool game. I love the writing.)
The majestic frat boys have given you a licence to kill, and you’re on their majesty’s secret service. You want to scare the living daylights out of some hippies. You climb up one of the yurts and perch on the roof. If the hippies find you, they’ll kill you — but you’ll die another day, because tonight you’re going to live and let die. You think briefly of your old lover, a spy who loved you, who came from Russia with love. But then you shake your head to clear it — you can think about that tomorrow, because tomorrow never dies.
The full moons rise over the hippy camp, the light from the moons raking everything with golden light. You reach into your pocket with a gold finger, aim with your golden eye, and let fly with a double handful of ferret bait. The ferrets sweep down from the sky like a ball of thunder, turning the hippy camp into a casino royale, where the ante is blood and the house always wins.
You climb down from the yurt, breathing heavily at the workout. Do you need to see a doctor? No. After all, you’ve lived once, and you’re allowed to do it exactly one more time.
Kids love slicing their own bananas
I don’t care if you want to be a ninja turtle