The last thing he remembered was sitting

The last thing he remembered was sitting shirtless, singing and playing guitar for the stranger who accompanied him back to his hotel room.

Now it was three days later, there was blood in his underwear and lot's of hair in his mouth. He couldn't explain all the strange burn marks on the toilet. His left eyebrow was

merging with his right eyebrow, and singed a little bit. When he yawned smoke poured out of his mouth, and his flatulence was more

sulfurous than usual. He asserted his Aspect as he took on the powers of his Avatar. Krishna (or Bobby J., in his human form) was the master of that trick. Still, it impressed

the ladies when he could create a smellaround effect of such intensity. After that particular parlor trick they were anxious for more. He asked them to gather in closely and then

pushed gently on his nostril three times. The unmistakable aroma of warm treacle filled the air and six gorgeous ladies threw themselves at his feet. This smellaround was great! He

thought he detected a hint of egg salad, which he detested, but he wasn't going to let that ruin everything. The hotties were still writhing around on the floor but the smell was

not hottie. It was Hootie. I knew he'd come back here. The floor hotties ran for the exits as Hootie drew his gun. It was a fine portrait, but the same one he always drew. Grenades

crossed across his chest and a Webley Fosbury automatic revolver, in .455 Webley caliber stuck into the waistband of his chinos and pulling the front of his pants so low pubic