Night One Update
The would-be adventurers were taking a well earned rest in a room full of barrels and... well, not a lot else. They'd battled their way through hordes of Fallen Ones and generic skeletons earlier in the day, and the last hour had been one long, brutal battle with a muscled, blood stained guy who called himself "The Butcher".
It had been a tough fight at first, but then one of their number had remembered they had a gun. Then it had been over quite quickly.
Rafi wasn't letting the close quarters hinder his desire to jerk one out, and was drawing disgusted sneers from several of his traveling companions as he stood atop a barrel and made it rain yogurt.
"Don't wipe it off!" he shouted as he saw several of them reaching for tissues, "Whoever wipes it off has insulted my honour as a man".
One of them purposefully wiped the sticky strands of jizz off, all the while holding eye contact with Rafi.
The fiery Hispanic whipped a knife out of his pocket and brandished it menacingly.
And then the wall caved in as a giant jug of Kool Aid burst into their sanctuary.
"OH YEAAAAAH!"
it took a few moments for them to realize that the collapse of the wall had killed one of their number.
KeepingTheFaith is dead. He was Rafi, Town Aligned El Cunado.
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Elsewhere, a man with a rainbow scarf was also jerking off, albeit more discreetly than his recently departed companion. He watched from a hole in a barrel as his hot piece of ass friend had sex with somebody he might have remembered from sex tapes such as "One Night in Asia" and "Robo c**k - The Embiggening".
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The 12" Yam eyed the hot piece of black ass as it listened to the battered cassette tape it had found lying around the dungeon.
It had planned to slip twixt those choc-caramel cheeks and do its business, but the music's blandness and poor rhyming had infuriated it.
The chocolate baby must die it thought in its tiny vegetable brain.
But then a man in a bright green mask ran by and changed his mind.
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Ironically enough, the object of the Yam's affection/rage had entirely less charitable thoughts in mind for the piece of produce.
"This ma-f**ker trippin', yo," he muttered to himself as he pulled out his gun and leveled it at the yam, "I f**kin' hate vegeballs'.
The stink of the thing hit him like a truck. The earthy aroma of yam, yes, but also the stink of shit and piss. He vomited and ran back into the shadows.
The handsome man who had been following him nodded in satisfaction and left, not noticing the chubby machine of war stationed nearby.
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The Kool Aid Man was offering a drink to a man who stank of sex when he suddenly shuddered. His lips still moved, but his post coital conversation partner couldn't hear him.
The witness watched in horror as the Kool Aid Man seemed to dissolve in front of him. The air around the giant jug turned a kind of red and then moved away.
Bazzi is dead. He was Kool Aid Man, Cult of Kool Aid Aligned Giant Jug of Kool Aid.
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It must have been the actor's lucky day. Not ten minutes after the hot piece of English tail had left his sodden bedding, but another famous face approached.
"I.... thought you'd like to.... have... sex," the man announced. He set his phaser from stun to thrill.
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And someplace else, the world's most marvelous man polished off a big, greasy helping of sinfully good dirty bird.
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With 22 remaining, it is 12 to lynch somebody.
Fred
