CouncilofGandalf

Project GILBROD Part XVIII: The Polarum Bone "He reminds me of someone I knew in my youth. I do not often think of the past. There was a young student, exceptionally gifted, possessing a great intelligence. It was assumed that one day he would take his place amongst the great Scholars of Vulcan. But he was a revolutionary. The knowledge and experience he thought were forbidden by Vulcan belief. He rejected his logical upbringing and embraced the animal passions of our ancestors. He believed the key to self-knowledge was emotion, not logic. When he encouraged others to follow him, he was banished from Vulcan, never to return." -- Spock, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier . . "You have a boomer in your house right now? Ouch, I know what that's like. Pure cringe. Did I ever tell you how my granddad lived with us the last year that he was alive? It was horrible... ...like, one day, me and my bestie Caitlyn were just sitting there vibing, watching some Owl House. He wheels himself in

Project: GILBROD Part XVII: Stegboh Rising "The best way to understand anything is to eat it." -- Ancient Samoan proverb . . "And that's how I became lead detective on the homicidal farter case. Boom, just like that. I didn't have any time to celebrate and soak it in. We had too much work to do, and it was only a matter of time before the farter would strike again." . . There's tension in the air. I can feel it. Everyone can feel it. They're all waiting for me, waiting for me to say something. Only I can bring it, everybody knows that... ...okay! No more delays. I clear my throat and say in my strongest voice... "Well, well, well! It looks like the TAMPON BAY BUCKING QUEERS are gonna be facing the MAN'S-ASS SHITTY QUEEFS in the Superbowl! How about that?!" ...yes. Every head in the room swivels, all eyes are on me. Everyone loves the office comedian. We bring joy to our fellow workers, we brighten the otherwise dull day. They are all so happy that I am here. No one

Project: GILBROD Part XVI: The Haktarian Archives -- "When you look at Trump, your brain is like, "What even IS this organism that I'm looking at? I know it's supposed to be human, but are we sure?" . . You know, they say that when Eric Trump was a child, his only dream was to catch a falling star so that he could give it to his mother. I think that explains a lot about the man he's become. Eric Trump... ...he seems a proper freakshow. I get Don Trump Jr., like when I watch him, I understand exactly how smart (dumb) he is, and see through his transparent efforts. Eric though, what does that dude even do? I know he's involved in shady business activities for his father's companies, but also is he the mutant freak that a normal family would have locked in an attic or basement, or perhaps left deep in the woods as a baby? Is Eric Trump given imaginary, or low-priority responsibilities because he only has ¾ of a normal man's brain-meat? (Look at the many large, disgusting

. . Goddamnit, where the hell are the 24-hour barber shops in this God-forsaken city?! Hell, I've even seen a wig shop once! What happened to those quaint days when women wore hats, etc., etc., at their jobs? This is a game that is dependent on a certain section of society to get absolutely everything right — they are NOT working to make video games because they love games or just want to play games. They are busy living in their own insular bubble, defending their world view, not hearing what the gaming community is saying, and is completely willing to use those who disagree with them as "human shields" or threats. If we have one of those "excuse me guys, what's with the homophobia" emails when somebody throws down a hot game night at the local barbershop, no progress is imminent. Have you checked the black neighborhoods, where barbershop culture is aware and rampant? For example, I had the following discussion with a hair stylist: "If we had all the money and all the time in the

Project: GILBROD Part XV: Yogurt Cosmos "Welcome, traveler, to Yogurt Cosmos. -- January 15th, 2020, 8:10 AM . . The jagged insectoidal spines erupted from Brooke Shields's ribcage, dripping with sizzling poison. The model and actress shrieked with delight as her back's flesh was torn loose like a strip of carpet left to hang, revealing the brownish carapace that encased her pulsating vertebrae. . . "And now, my most inquisitive and patient dear ladies and gentlemen here assembled, we present to you, the world's worst necromancer: Johnny Chrone!" The crowd exploded with such a noise, a gleeful roar of absolute adoration and approval, it was unlike anything I'd ever heard before, and I couldn't imagine why anyone would be so excited about the worst necromancer. If he was more successful, then perhaps I could understand the elation of the crowd. I was dumbfounded, and my bewilderment suddenly melted into dread when I saw the necromancer walk out onto the stage. . . "I see you