"What do you mean it's over?"

"What do you mean it's over?"

She sighed and handed him her 20-sided dice, "I can't be part of your clan, anymore. I'm a trial lawyer now." He moped, "Who will our Half-Dwarf Cleric now? Who?"

The earth shook, smoke and lightening. The Dungeon Master appeared. The geeks couldn't believe it. The DM made them real characters but made the surfer a "warrior." That pissed

off the only chick there because she was made a Cleric but fancied herself as tough. "Get over it you morons!" shouted the Wizard. "Don't you realize we're in a dungeon!" A dragon

was sleeping in the next room, guarding its treasure. The Wizard groaned as he heard it softly stirring. He hurriedly cast barrier spells. "Stop arguing and help!" he cried.

The white-whiskered sage's acute displeasure at the sight of adventurers' arguments could perhaps be traced back to his own wizarding parents frequent spats during road trips, the

family-sized broomstick erupting with spells and charms,many of which strayed to leave him strangely transmorgified for days until they took notice of him. The white-whiskered sage

grinned a toothless grin and knelt beside the polymorph. "This is what happens when you fool around with Clint Eastwood and his Party Posse, Br'er Jemmitz." Bob didn't have the

galbladder to put up with this lifestyle anymore. Years of eating only boiled peanuts and rice-a-roni had destroyed his insides. He closed his nostrils and embraced icy cold death.