Ich betrat den Serverraum von Blizzard um

Ich betrat den Serverraum von Blizzard um meine lange geplante Mission endlich umsetzen zu können:

I stared at the blinking lights and arm-thick clusters of cables. This was the brain. I armed and threw two grenades into the server racks, then dove behind a desk. The boom

pitiful instead of Boom they just went "PIP PIP." This is the last time I buy grenades from Leprechaun's half the time their products worked in strange ways. The Brain counter atta

-chment which they'd supplied for the grenades didn't work either. I was beginning to suspect the Leprechauns were in league with the Brain, when the Brain launched an enormous

brain fart--essentially he had one of the dumbest most pathetic ideas in the history of synaptic nerves, he'd thought up this thing, an invention sort of it was

a wax sealant for human skin. Not only did it give the user a greasy appearance, but it made popping zits virtually impossible. A mob of dermatologists stormed his lab, armed with

a variety of scrubs, dermabrasion implements and injectable deadening agents. They held him to the floor and injected enough toxin to where he could not *not* smile. The wax selant

gave him an even pastier look, if possible, and as for his nipples they were buffed with orange fluoride. This was the worst plastic surgery he'd had since his little stint on a

foreign TV show called "Worst Stilt-Walking Disasters". Wow, was that some botched plastic surgery! Dr. Nick Emgud really had no business cutting hair, never mind flesh.